THE 


of  ^i, 
140  -Pacfc, 


THE  HEART  LINE 


Clvtie 


THE  HEART  LINE 


A  DRAMA  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 


By 

GELETT  BURGESS 

Author  of 

The  White  Cat,  Vivette 
A  Little  Sister  of  Destiny,  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

LESTER  RALPH 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1907 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

OCTOBER 


ROBERT  DRTTMMOND  COMPANY.   PRINTERS,   NEW  TORH 


3503 


TO  MAYSIE 
WHO  KNEW  THE  PEOPLE 

AND 
LOVED  THE  PLACE 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
THE  CITY  THAT  WAS 


HV3 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

PROLOGUE         J 

I  THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY    .        .  .24 

II  TUITION  AND  INTUITION  .      49 

III  THE  SPIDER'S  NEST        ......      63 

IV  THE  PAYSONS  89 

V  THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER    .  127 

VI   SIDE  LIGHTS     ......  >    165 

VII  THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  WEB          .        .        .        .217 

VIII   ILLUMINATION 246 

IX  COMING  ON 270 

X  A  LOOK  INTO  THE  MIRROR 293 

XI  THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT       .        .        .    328 
XII  THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT     .        .        -353 

XIII  THE  BLOODSUCKER 379 

XIV  THE  FORE-HONEYMOON 40° 

XV  THE  RE-ENTRANT  ANGLE 435 

XVI   TIT  FOR  TAT 451 

XVII  THE  MATERIALIZING  SEANCE        .       .        .        .467 

XVIII  A  RETURN  TO  INSTINCT 481 

XIX  FANCY  GRAY  ACCEPTS    ......    S°3 

XX  MASTERSON'S  MANCEUVERS  .  .        .526 

XXI   THE  SUNRISE  55° 

EPILOGUE         ........    58° 


THE  HEART  LINE 


PROLOGUE 

In  the  year  1877  the  Siskiyou  House,  originally  a 
third-class  hotel  patronized  chiefly  by  mining  men, 
had  fallen  into  such  disrepute  that  it  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  cheap  tenement.  Its  office  was  now 
frankly  a  bar-room ;  beside  it,  a  narrow  hallway 
plunged  into  the  shabby,  shadowy  interior;  here  a 
steep  stairway  rose.  Above  were  disconsolate  rooms 
known  to  the  police  of  San  Francisco  as  the  occa- 
sional resort  of  counterfeiters,  confidence  workers 
and  lesser  knaves;  to  the  neighborhood  the  Siskiyou 
Hotel  had  a  local  reputation  as  being  the  home  of 
Madam  Grant,  who  occupied  two  rooms  on  the  second 
floor. 

Her  rooms  were  slovenly  and  squalid — almost  bar- 
barous in  the  extremity  of  their  neglect.  Upon  the 
floor  was  a  matted  carpet  of  dirt  and  rubbish  inches 
deep,  piled  higher  at  the  corners,  uneven  with  lumps 
of  refuse,  bizarre  with  scraps  of  paper,  cloth  and  tan- 
gled strings. 

In  the  rear  room  an  unclean  length  of  burlap  was 
stretched  across  a  string,  half  concealing  a  disordered, 

i 


2  THE    HEART    LINE 

ramshackle  cot,  whose  coverings  were  ragged,  soiled 
and  moth-eaten.  A  broken  chair  or  two  leaned  crazily 
against  the  wall.  The  dusty  windows  looked  point- 
blank  upon  the  damp  wall  of  an  abutting  wooden 
house.  There  had  once  been  paper  upon  the  walls; 
it  was  now  torn,  scratched  and  rubbed  by  grimy 
shoulders  into  a  harlequin  pattern  of  dun  and  greasy 
tones. 

The  front  room,  through  the  open  rolling  doors, 
was,  if  possible,  in  a  still  worse  state  of  decay,  and 
here  wooden  and  paper  boxes,  tin  cans,  sacks  of 
rags  (doing  service  for  cushions),  a  three-legged 
table  and  a  smoked,  rusty  oil-stove,  with  its  comple- 
ment of  unclean  pots  and  dishes,  showed  the  place, 
abominable  as  was  its  aspect,  to  be  a  human  abode. 
A  print  or  two,  torn  from  some  newspaper  or  maga- 
zine, was  pinned  to  the  wall  in  protest  against  the 
sordidness  of  the  interior.  The  place  gave  forth  a 
fetid  and  moldy  smell.  The  air  was  damp,  though 
the  sun  struggled  in  through  cracked  panes,  half 
lighting  the  apartment. 

There  was,  however,  one  piece  of  furniture,  gloss- 
ily,  splendidly  new,  incongruously  set  amidst  the  dis- 
order— an  oak  bookcase,  its  shelves  well  filled  with 
volumes.  Seated  upon  a  cracker  box  in  front  of  its 
open  doors,  this  afternoon,  a  boy  of  eight  years  sat 
reading  with  rapt  excitement  the  story  of  Gulliver's 
Travels. 

He,  too,  seemed  strangely  set  in  that  environment, 
for  he  was  clean  and  sweet  in  person  and  dress.  His 
hair  was  black  and  waving,  his  eyes  deep  blue,  clear 
and  shrewd.  His  cheeks  were  pink  and  gently  dim- 
pled, his  mouth  ample,  firm  and  well-cut,  over  a 


PROLOGUE  3 

square,  deeply  cleft  chin.  He  was  patently  a  hand- 
some child,  virile,  graceful,  determined  in  his  pose. 
His  natural  charm  was  made  more  picturesque  by  a 
blue  flannel  suit,  with  white  collar,  cuffs  and  stockings. 
Oblivious  to  his  extraordinary  surroundings,  he  read 
on  until  he  had  finished  the  book. 

He  rose  then,  yawned  and  walked  to  the  window  in 
the  front  room  to  look  out  upon  the  street.  Opposite 
was  a  row  of  low  buildings — a  stable,  a  Chinese  laun- 
dry, two  dreary  rooming-houses  and  a  saloon.  The 
roof-line  of  the  block,  where  the  false  wooden  fronts 
met  the  sky,  held  his  gaze  for  a  few  moments.  A 
horse-car  lumbered  lazily  past,  and  his  eyes  fell  to 
the  cobble-paved  thoroughfare  and  its  passers-by.  To 
the  left,  Market  Street  roared  bustling  a  block  away 
and  the  throngs  swept  up  and  down.  To  the  right,  a 
little  passage  starting  from  two  saloons,  one  on  each 
corner  of  the  street,  penetrated  the  slums.  The  warm, 
mellow  California  sunlight  bathed  the  whole  scene, 
picking  out,  here  and  there,  high  lights  on  window- 
glass  that  shot  forth  blinding  sparks  and  flashes. 

The  boy  yawned  again,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
then  turned  to  the  sooty  oil  stove  and  peered  rather 
disgustedly  amongst  the  frying-pans,  tins  and  paste- 
board boxes.  There  was  nothing  in  the  way  of  food 
to  be  found.  He  sniffed  fastidiously  at  the  corrupt 
odor  of  cooking,  then  knelt  upon  the  floor  and  began 
a  search,  crawling  gingerly  on  hands  and  knees.  The 
ends  of  three  matches  projected  slightly  above  the 
surface  of  the  matted  layers  of  rubbish.  Here  he 
scraped  the  dirt  away  with  a  case-knife  and  came 
upon  a  little  paper-wrapoed  parcel,  which,  oner^d, 
disclosed  three  bright  twenty-five-cent  pieces.  He 


4  THE    HEART    LINE 

wrapped  them  up  again,  tucked  them  into  the  hole  in 
the  dirt  and  went  on  with  his  quest. 

His  next  find,  a  foot  or  so  from  the  base-board  of 
the  double  doors,  was  a  cache  containing  a  pearl- 
handled  pen-knife.  He  put  it  back.  Here  and  there 
in  the  subsoil  he  came  upon  other  treasure  trove,  each 
article  carefully  wrapped  in  paper  or  bits  of  rag — a 
jet  ear-ring,  a  folded  calendar,  a  silver  chain,  two 
watches,  a  dozen  screw-eyes,  several  five-dollar  gold 
pieces,  a  roll  of  corset  laces.  He  returned  them  one 
by  one  as  he  found  them,  and  smoothed  the  dirt  over 
the  place. 

He  had  nearly  exhausted  the  field  in  the  front  room, 
when  he  came  upon  a  small  paper  bag  containing  a 
few  macaroons.  These  he  sat  down  to  eat,  first 
brushing  off  feathery  bits  of  green  mold.  He  dis- 
covered another  bag  containing  peanuts.  He  chewed 
them  slowly,  throwing  the  shells  upon  the  floor,  his 
eyes  wandering,  his  air  abstracted. 

Leading  off  the  front  room  was  a  smaller  one  whose 
door  was  shut.  He  opened  it  now,  and  went  in  some- 
what fearfully.  Here  was  another  cot  drawn  up  in 
front  of  the  window,  and,  upon  nails  driven  in  the 
wall,  women's  hats  and  dresses.  Upon  the  inside  of 
the  door  was  pinned  a  stained,  yellowing  newspaper 
cut — the  portrait  of  a  man  perhaps  thirty  years  old, 
with  mustache  and  side-whiskers  and  a  wide  flowing 
collar.  Beneath  it  was  printed  the  name,  "Oliver 
Payson."  The  boy  gazed  at  it  curiously  for  some 
moments. 

From  this,  he  turned  to  a  corner  where  stood  an 
old  trunk  covered  with  cowhide  whose  hair  was 
rubbed  off  in  mangy  spots.  Corroded  brass-headed 


PROLOGUE  5 

nails  held  a  rotting,  pinked  flap  of  red  leather  about 
the  edge  of  the  cover.  On  the  top  of  the  trunk,  also 
in  brass-headed  nails,  were  the  letters  "F.  G." 

He  stooped  over  and  tried  the  lid.  The  trunk  was 
locked.  He  lifted  it,  testing  its  weight,  and  found  it 
too  heavy  to  be  budged.  He  rubbed  the  hair  with  his 
hand,  played  with  the  handles  and  fingered  the  lock 
longingly ;  then,  after  a  last  look,  he  left  the  room  and 
closed  the  door. 

He  had  gone  back  to  the  bookcase  and  taken  down 
a  volume  of  Montaigne's  Essays,  when  he  heard  a 
knock  on  the  door  of  the  back  room  leading  into  the 
hallway.  He  unlocked  the  door,  opened  it  a  few 
inches  and  stood  guarding  the  entrance. 

A  woman  of  middle  age  in  a  black  bonnet,  shawl 
and  gown  attempted  to  pass  him.  He  stood  stiffly  in 
her  way,  regarding  her  harsh,  sour  visage,  thin,  cruel 
lips  and  pale,  humid,  bluish  eyes.  At  his  resolute 
defense  her  attitude  weakened. 

"Ain't  Madam  Grant  to  home  ?"  she  said. 

"No,  she  is  not.    What  do  you  want?" 

"Oh,  I  just  wanted  to  see  her;  you  let  me  come  in 
and  wait  a  while — she'll  be  back  soon,  I  s'pose?" 

"She  doesn't  allow  me  to  let  anybody  in  when  she's 
away,"  the  boy  protested. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Frankie ;  I'm  a  particular  friend 
of  hers.  I'll  just  come  in  and  make  myself  to  home 
till  she  comes  in.  I'm  all  winded  comin'  up  them  steep 
stairs,  and  I've  got  to  set  down." 

"I'm  sorry,"  the  boy  said  more  politely,  "but  I 
mustn't  let  you  in.  I  did  let  a  lady  in  once,  and  Mamsy 
scolded  me  for  it.  The  next  day  we  missed  a  watch, 
too." 


6  THE   HEART   LINE 

"My  sakes !  Does  she  keep  her  watches  in  the  dirt 
on  the  floor,  too?"  the  woman  said,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  curiosity.  "You  needn't  worry  about  me,  my 
dear ;  everybody  knows  me,  and  trusts  me,  too.  Besides, 
my  business  is  important  and  I've  just  got  to  see  the 
Madam,  sure." 

"You  may  wait  on  the  stairs,  if  you  like,  but  you 
can't  come  in  here.  She  says  that  the  neighbors  are 
altogether  too  curious."  The  remark  was  made  delib- 
erately, as  if  to  aid  his  defense  by  its  rudeness.  But 
the  woman's  skin  was  tough. 

"You're  a  pert  one,  you  be !"  she  sniffed.  "I'd  like 
to  know  what  you  do  here  all  day,  anyway.  You 
ought  to  be  to  school !  We'll  have  to  look  after  you, 
young  man;  they's  societies  that  makes  a  business  of 
seeing  to  children  that's  neglected  like  you,  and  takes 
'em  away  where  they  can  be  taught  an  education  and 
live  decent." 

The  boy's  face  changed  to  dismay.  The  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  "I  don't  want  to  go  away,  I  want  to 
live  here,  and  I'm  going  to,  too !  Besides,  I  can  read 
and  write  already,  and  I  learn  more  things  than  you 
can  learn  at  school.  I'd  just  like  to  see  them  take 
me  away!" 

"What  do  you  learn,  now  ?"  said  the  woman  insinu- 
atingly. "Do  you  learn  how  to  tell  fortunes  ?  Can  you 
tell  mine,  now  ?  I'll  give  you  a  nickel  if  you  will !" 

"I  don't  want  a  nickel.  I've  got  all  the  money  I 
want!" 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?  How  much  have  you 
got?  Say,  I  hear  the  Madam's  pretty  well  fixed. 
How  much  do  you  s'pose  she's  worth,  now?" 

"You  can't  work  me  that  way." 


PROLOGUE  7 

She  put  forth  a  shaky  hand  to  stroke  his  dark  hair, 
and  he  warded  her  off.  "Nor  that  way  either!"  he 
said,  beginning  to  grow  angry. 

"Say,  sonny,  do  you  ever  see  the  spirits  here?"  she 
began  again. 

"No,  but  I  can  smell  'em  now,"  he  replied. 

She  burst  out  into  a  cackle  of  laughter.  "Say,  that's 
pretty  good!  You're  a  likely  little  feller,  you  be.  I 
didn't  mean  no  harm,  noways." 

"You  mean  that  you  didn't  mean  any  harm,  don't 
you  ?"  he  asked  soberly. 

"No,  I  don't  mean  no  harm,  sure  I  don't!  What 
d'you  mean?" 

"She  says  one  shouldn't  use  double  negatives." 

"What's  them,  then?" 

"I  mean  you  don't  use  good  English,"  said  the 
boy. 

"I  don't  talk  English?  What  do  I  talk  then- 
Dutch?  What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  just  studying  grammar,  that's  all.  Now 
you  see  I  don't  need  to  go  to  school,  the  way  you  said. 
Mamsy  teaches  me  every  night." 

"Oh,  she  does,  does  she?  Well,  well!  I  hear  she 
has  a  fine  education;  some  say  she's  went  to  college, 
even." 

"Yes,  she  has.  She  went  to  a  woman's  college  in 
the  East,  once." 

"Then  what's  she  living  in  this  pigsty  for,  I'd  like 
to  know !  It  beats  all,  this  room  does.  Let  me  come 
in  for  a  moment  and  just  look  round  a  bit,  will  you? 
I  won't  touch  nothing  at  all,  sure." 

The  boy  protested,  and  it  might  have  come  to  a 
physical  struggle  had  not  footsteps  been  heard  coming 


8  THE   HEART    LINE 

up  the  narrow  stairway.  The  visitor  peered  over  the 
railing  of  the  balusters. 

"That's  her!"  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

A  head,  rising,  looked  between  the  balusters,  like 
a  wild  animal  gazing  through  the  bars  of  its  cage. 
It  was  the  head  of  a  woman  of  twenty-seven  or  eight, 
and  though  her  face  had  a  strange,  wild  expression, 
with  staring  eyes,  she  was,  or  had  undoubtedly  been, 
a  lady.  Her  hair,  prematurely  gray,  was  parted  in 
the  center  and  brought  down  in  waves  over  her  ears. 
Her  eyebrows,  in  vivid  contrast,  were  black;  and 
between  them  a  single  vertical  line  cleft  her  forehead. 
What  might  have  been  a  rare  beauty  was  now  dis- 
torted into  something  fantastic  and  mysterious,  though 
when  at  rare  intervals  she  smiled,  a  veil  seemed  to 
be  drawn  aside  and  she  became  an  engaging,  familiar, 
warm-hearted  woman.  She  was  dressed  in  a  brilliant 
red  gown  and  dolman  of  mosaic  cloth  with  a  Tyrolean 
hat  of  the  period.  Such  striking  color  was,  thirty 
years  ago,  uncommon  upon  the  streets,  but,  even  had 
it  been  more  usual,  the  severity  of  her  costume  with 
neither  a  bustle  nor  the  elaborate  ruffles  and  trimmings 
then  in  vogue,  would  have  made  her  conspicuous. 

She  came  up,  with  a  white  face,  gasping  for  breath 
after  her  climb,  one  hand  to  her  heart.  For  a  moment 
she  seemed  unable  to  speak.  Then  suddenly  and 
sharply  she  said: 

"Francis,  shut  the  door !" 

'The  "boy  obeyed,  coming  out  into  the  hall,  with  a 
hand  still  holding  the  knob. 

"The  lady  wanted  me  to  let  her  in,  but  I  wouldn't 
do  it,  Mamsy,"  he  said. 

Madam  Grant  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  apologetic, 


PROLOGUE  9 

cringing  figure,  whose  thin,  skinny  fingers  plucked  at 
her  shawl. 

"I  just  called  neighborly  like,  thinkin'  maybe  you'd 
give  me  a  settin',  Madam  Grant,"  she  said. 

Madam  Grant  had  come  nearer,  now,  and  stood 
gazing  at  her  visitor.  The  expression  of  scorn  had 
faded  from  her  face,  her  eyes  glazed.  She  spoke 
slowly  in  a  deliberate  monotone. 

"Your  name  is  Margaret  Riley." 

The  woman  nodded.  Her  lips  had  fallen  open,  and 
her  eyes  were  fixed  in  awe. 

"Who  are  the  three  men  I  see  beside  you?"  de- 
manded Madam  Grant. 

"They  was  only  two !  I  swear  to  God  they  was  only 
two!"  " 

"There  is  a  little  child,  too." 

"For  the  love  of  Heaven!"  Mrs.  Riley  moaned. 
"Send  'em  away,  send  'em  away,  tell  'em  to  leave 
me  be!" 

Madam  Grant's  eyes  brightened  a  little,  and  her 
color  returned. 

"Come  in  the  room  and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do 
for  you." 

The  three  entered,  Mrs.  .Riley,  half  terrified  but 
curious,  darting  her  eyes  about  the  apartment,  sniff- 
ing at  the  foul  odor,  her  furtive  glances  returning 
ever  to  the  mad  woman.  Francis  went  to  the  book- 
case and  resumed  his  reading  without  manifesting 
further  interest  in  the  visitor.  Madam  Grant  seated 
herself  upon  a  wooden  box  covered  with  sacking  and 
untied  the  strings  of  her  hat. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"I  got  three  tickets  in  the  lottery,  and  I  want  to 


io  THE   HEART    LINE 

know  which  one  to  keep,"  Mrs.  Riley  ventured,  some- 
what shamefaced. 

Madam  Grant  gave  a  fierce  gesture,  and  the  line 
between  her  brows  grew  deeper.  "I'll  answer  such 
questions  for  nobody!  That's  the  devil's  work,  not 
mine.  How  did  your  three  husbands  die,  Margaret 
Riley?" 

The  woman  held  up  her  hands  in  protest.  "Two, 
only  two!"  she  cried;  "and  they  died  in  their  beds 
regular  enough.  God  knows  I  wore  my  fingers  out 
for  'em,  too!" 

"They  died  suddenly,"  Madam  Grant  replied  impas- 
sively. "Who's  the  other  one  with  the  smooth  face — 
the  one  who  limps?" 

Mrs.  Riley  coughed  into  her  hands  nervously.  "It 
might  be  my  brother." 

"It  is  not  your  brother.  You  know  who  it  is,  Mrs. 
Riley;  and  he  tells  me  that  you  must  give  back  the 
papers." 

"Oh,  I'll  give  'em  back;  I  was  always  meanin'  to 
give  'em  back,  God  knows  I  was !  I'll  do  it  this  week." 

"In  a  week  it  will  be  too  late." 

"I'll  do  it  to-morrow." 

"You'll  do  it  to-day,  Mrs.  Riley." 

"I  will,  oh,  I  will!" 

"Now,  if  you  want  a  sitting,  I'll  give  you  one," 
Madam  Grant  continued.  "That  is,  if  I  can  get 
Weenie.  I  can't  promise  anything.  She  comes  and 
she  goes  like  the  sun  in  spring." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Riley,  rising  abruptly.  "I 
think  I'll  be  going,  after  all."  She  started  toward 
the  door. 

The  clairvoyant's  face  had  set  again  in  a  vacant, 


PROLOGUE  ii 

far-away  expression  and  her  voice  fell  to  the  same 
dead  tone  she  had  used  before.  She  clutched  her 
throat  suddenly. 

"He's  in  the  water — he's  drowning — he's  passing 
out  now — he's  gone !  You  are  responsible,  you !  you ! 
You  drove  him  to  it  with  your  false  tongue  and  your 
crafty  hands.  But  you'll  regret  it.  You'll  pay  for  it 
in  misery  and  pain,  Margaret  Riley.  Your  old  age 
will  be  miserable.  You'll  escape  shame  to  suffer 
torment !" 

Mrs.  Riley's  face,  haggard  and  terrified,  was  work- 
ing convulsively.  Without  taking  her  eyes  from  the 
medium,  she  ran  into  the  front  room  and  shook  the 
boy's  shoulder. 

"Wake  her  up,  Frankie,  I  don't  want  no  more  of 
this !  Wake  her  up,  dear,  and  let  me  go !" 

Francis  arose  lazily  and  walked  over  to  Madam 
Grant.  He  put  his  arm  tenderly  about  her  and  whis- 
pered in  her  ear. 

"Come  back,  Mamsy  dear!  Come  back,  Mamsy,  I 
want  you !"  He  began  stroking  her  hands  firmly. 

Mrs.  Riley,  still  gazing,  fascinated,  at  the  group, 
backed  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the  door.  Her 
steps  were  heard  stumbling  down  the  stairs.  Madam 
Grant's  eyes  quivered  and  opened  slowly.  She  shud- 
dered, then  shook  the  blood  back  into  her  thin,  white 
hands.  Finally  she  looked  up  at  Francis  and  smiled. 

"All  right,  dear!" 

Her  smile,  however,  lasted  but  for  the  few  moments 
during  which  he  caressed  her;  then  the  veil  fell  upon 
her  countenance,  and  her  eyes  grew  strange  and  hard. 
She  gazed  wildly  here  and  there  about  the  room. 

"What's  that  in  Boston?"  she  asked  suddenly,  the 


12  THE   HEART    LINE 

pitch  of  her  voice  sharply  raised,  as  she  pointed  to 
the  shells  upon  the  rubbish  of  the  floor. 

"Only  some  peanuts  I  was  eating,  Mamsy,"  said  the 
boy,  guiltily  watching  her. 

"Somebody  has  been  in  Toledo,  somebody  has  been 
in  New  York!  I  can  see  the  smoke  of  the  trains!" 
Her  eyes  traveled  around  an  invisible  path,  from 
mound  to  mound  of  dirt  and  scraps,  noticing  the 
slight  displacements  the  boy  had  made  in  his  quest  for 
food.  He  watched  her  sharply,  but  without  fear. 

"Oh,  the  train  didn't  stop,  Mamsy;  they  were 
express  trains,  you  know." 

"Don't  tell  me/  don't  tell  me !" 

She  pointed  with  her  slender  forefinger  here  and 
there.  "New  Orleans  is  safe;  New  Orleans  is  always 
a  safe,  strait-laced  old  town ;  but  the  place  isn't,  what 
it  was!  They've  left  the  French  quarter  now  to  the 
Creoles,  but  I  know  a  place  on  Royal  Street  where 
the  gallery  whispers — O  God!  that  gallery  with  the 
magnolia  trees — and  the  leper  girl  across  the  street 
in  the  end  room!"  Her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  harsh 
whisper;  now  it  rose  again.  "Chicago — all  right.  I 
wouldn't  care  if  it  weren't.  Baltimore — he  never  was 
in  Baltimore.  But  what's  the  matter  with  Denver? 
Somebody's  been  to  Denver!"  She  turned  her  gaze 
point-blank  upon  Francis. 

He  met  it  fairly. 

"Oh,  no,  Mamsy,  nobody  ever  goes  to  Denver, 
Mamsy  dear!" 

She  knelt  down  and  groped  tentatively,  sensitively, 
across  the  layer  of  dust  that  sloped  toward  the  corner, 
by  the  bay-window.  She  turned,  still  on  all-fours,  to 
shake  her  finger  at  him,  and  say  solemnly:  "Don't 


PROLOGUE  13 

K        4 

ever  go  to  Denver,  Francis!  Denver's  a  bad  place, 
a  very  wicked  place.  They  gamble  in  Denver,  they 
gamble  yellow  money  away."  She  arose,  apparently 
either  satisfied  or  diverted  in  her  quest,  to  turn  her 
back  to  the  boy  and  look  inside  the  bag  she  had  been 
holding. 

"Go  outside,  Francis!"  she  commanded,  after  fum- 
bling with  its  contents. 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  passed  into  the  hall. 
Here  he  waited,  listening  listlessly,  drumming  softly 
upon  the  railing.  The  room  was  silent  for  a  while; 
then  he  heard  a  muffled  pounding,  as  of  one  stamping 
down  the  surface  of  the  matted  dirt.  At  last  she 
called  him  and  he  went  in  again.  Madam  Grant's 
face  was  placid  and  kind. 

She  proceeded  to  occupy  herself  busily  at  the  little 
oil  stove,  putting  into  the  greasy  frying-pan  some  chops 
which  she  had  brought  home  with  her.  The  splutter- 
ing and  the  pungent  odor  of  the  frying  fat  soon  filled 
the  two  rooms.  She  cut  a  few  slices  from  a  loaf  of 
stale  bread,  and  set  the  meager  repast  forth  upon  the 
top  of  a  wooden  box. 

"Come  and  have  dinner,  Francis!"  she  said,  with  a 
sweet  look  at  him. 

That  the  boy  was  far  older  than  his  years  was  evi- 
dent by  the  way  he  watched  her  and  took  his  cue 
from  her,  humoring  her  in  her  madder  moments, 
restraining  her  in  her  moods  of  mystic  exaltation, 
pathetically  affectionate  during  her  lucid  intervals. 
She  was  in  this  last  phase  now,  and  from  time  to 
time,  in  the  course  of  their  meal,  his  hand  stole  to 
hers.  Its  pressure  was  softly  returned. 

"What  have  you  read  to-day?" 


I4  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I  finished  Gulliver." 

"What  did  you  think  of  it?" 

"Why,  somehow,  it  seemed  just  like  it  might  be 
true." 

"As  if  it  might  be  true,  Francis — what  did  I  tell 
you?"  Her  tone  grew  severe,  almost  pedagogic. 
"You  must  be  careful  of  your  talk,  my  boy!  Never 
forget;  it  is  important.  You'll  never  get  on  if  you're 
careless  and  common.  You  will  often  be  judged  by 
your  speech.  What  else  did  you  read?" 

"I  tried  Montaigne's  Essays,  but  I  couldn't  under- 
stand much.  It  seemed  so  dull  to  me.  But  there's  one, 
Whether  the  Governor  of  a  Place  Besieged  Ought 
Himself  to  go  out  to  Parley.  I  like  that!" 

Madam  Grant  laughed.  "I'd  like  to  have  known 
Montaigne ;  he  was  a  kind  of  old  maid,  but  he  was  a 
modern,  after  all;  common  sense  will  do  if  you  can't 
get  humor." 

"Where  did  you  get  all  these  books,  Mamsy?" 

Her  face  grew  blank  again;  her  eyes  wandered. 
She  recited  in  a  sort  of  croon : 

"Heard,  have  you?  what?  they  have  told  you  he  never  re- 
pented his  sin. 

How  do  they  know  it?  are  they  his  mother?  are  you   of 
his  kin?" 

A  frightened  look  came  on  the  boy's  face  and  his 
hand  went  to  hers  again. 

"Mamsy,  Mamsy !"  he  cried.  "Come  back,  Mamsy ! 
I  want  you!" 

She  turned  to  him  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him 
before.  "Oh !"  she  said,  and  drew  aside.  Then :  "You 
mustn't  ask  questions,  my  boy." 


With  a  quick  impulse  she  clasped  him  to  her        Page  15 


PROLOGUE  15 

"I  won't,  Mamsy." 

"You're  a  good  little  boy  and  you  came  out  of  the 
dark,"  she  pursued. 

"Out  of  the  dark?"  he  repeated,  tempting  her  on. 
His  curiosity  was  manifest. 

"Don't  you  remember  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure.    They  was  a  place — " 

"There  was  a  place,"  she  corrected. 

"There  was  a  place  where  they  beat  me,  and  I  ran 
away,  and  I  found  you,  and  you  were  good  to  me." 

"No,  it  is  you  who  have  been  good — I'm  not  good ; 
I'm  bad,  Francis." 

"I  know  you're  good,  Mamsy,  because  you  teach 
me  to  do  everything  right,  and  I  love  you !" 

With  a  quick  impulse  she  clasped  him  to  her,  but 
even  as  she  did  so,  her  face  changed  again,  this  time 
with  an  expresssion  of  pain.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart  suddenly  and  moaned.  He  watched  her  in  terror. 

"Get  the  bottle !"  she  commanded  huskily,  dropping 
to  the  floor,  to  support  herself  on  her  elbow. 

He  ran  to  a  little  bath-room  beside  the  closet, 
brought  a  bottle  and  spoon,  poured  out  a  dose  of  the 
medicine  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  Finally  she  sat  up, 
listening. 

"Somebody's  coming.  She  is  coming!  Come  here, 
Francis !  Quickly !" 

Taking  him  by  the  hand,  she  led  him  to  the  closet 
in  the  back  room,  pushed  him  inside,  closed  the  door 
and  locked  it. 

It  was  dark  in  the  closet,  but  he  knew  its  contents 
as  well  as  if  he  could  see  them.  Upon  a  row  of 
shelves  were  account-books  and  papers  covered  with 
dust.  On  nails  in  the  wall  his  own  small  stock  of 


16  THE   HEART   LINE 

clothes  hung,  and  in  a  wooden  box  on  the  floor  were 
his  playthings — blocks,  a  wooden  horse,  several  pre- 
cious bits  of  twine  and  leather,  a  collection  of  spools 
and  a  toy  globe.  He  sat  down  on  this  box  patiently 
and  waited. 

Presently  there  came  a  knock  at  the  hall  door. 
Madam  Grant  opened  it  and  some  one  entered.  He 
heard  his  guardian's  voice  saying: 

"Come  in,  Grace,  here  I  am,  such  as  I  am,  and  here 
you  are,  such  as  you  are."  Then  her  voice  changed, 
becoming  tremulous  and  excited.  "Ah,  but  she's 
beautiful!  May  I  kiss  her,  Grace?  Oh,  what  eyes! 
Her  father's  eyes,  aren't  they?  Don't  be  afraid, 
Grace,  let  her  come  to  me." 

There  was  a  reply  in  a  soft  voice  which  Francis 
could  not  make  out,  as  they  passed  into  the  front 
room.  He  tried  to  peep  through  the  keyhole,  but  as 
the  key  had  been  left  in,  he  could  see  nothing.  He 
sat  down  upon  the  box  again  to  wait,  playing  with 
his  toy  globe.  After  a  while  he  noticed  a  thin  streak 
of  light  admitted  by  a  crack  in  the  panel  of  the  door, 
and  rose  to  see  if  he  could  see  through  it.  At  the 
height  of  his  eye  it  was  too  narrow  to  show  him 
anything  in  the  room,  but  farther  up  it  widened.  He 
pulled  down  several  account-books  from  the  shelves 
and  piled  them  upon  the  box.  Standing  tiptoe  upon 
these,  he  found  that  he  could  get  a  clear  though  lim- 
ited view  of  the  bay-window. 

Here  a  little  girl  sat  quietly,  vividly  illuminated  in 
the  sunshine.  She  was  scarcely  more  than  four  years 
of  age  and  was  dressed  in  a  navy  blue  silk  frock  whose 
collar  and  pockets  were  elaborately  trimmed  with 
ruffles  of  white  satin  and  bows  of  ribbon.  She  wore 


PROLOGUE  17 

a  white  muslin  cap  decorated  with  ribbon,  lace  and 
rosebuds;  white  stockings  showed  above  her  high 
buttoned  boots;  her  hair  was  a  truant  mass  of  fine- 
spun threads,  curling,  tawny  yellow.  Her  face  was 
round,  her  eyes  extraordinarily  wide  apart  under  level, 
straight  brows.  What  caught  and  held  his  attention, 
however,  as  he  watched,  was  a  velvety  mole  upon  her 
left  cheek,  so  placed  as  to  be  a  piquant  ornament  rather 
than  a  disfigurement  to  her  countenance.  She  sat 
listening,  tightly  holding  a  woolly  lamb  in  her  plump 
little  arms.  The  two  women  were  out  of  his  range 
of  vision. 

The  steady  low  sound  of  voices  came  to  him,  but 
he  made  no  attempt  to  listen — his  attention  was  riv- 
eted upon  the  figure  of  the  little  girl  who  was  sharply 
focused,  as  in  an  opera-glass,  directly  in  his  field  of 
view.  Occasionally,  as  she  was  spoken  to,  she  smiled, 
and  her  cheek  dimpled ;  but  she  seemed  to  be  looking 
at  him,  through  the  door.  She  scarcely  moved  her 
eyes,  but  kept  them  fixed  in  his  direction,  as  if  con- 
scious of  an  invisible  presence. 

The  women  talked  on.  Occasionally  Madam  Grant's 
voice  rose  to  a  more  excited  note,  and  a  few  words 
came  to  him,  betraying  to  his  knowledge  of  her  that 
her  mood  had  been  interrupted  by  her  customary 
vagaries.  At  such  times  the  little  girl  would  with- 
draw her  glance  to  gaze  solemnly  in  Madam  Grant's 
direction;  she  showed,  however,  no  signs  of  alarm. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  the  little  girl  understood,  even 
as  he  understood,  the  temporary  aberration.  Then  her 
eyes  would  return  to  his,  as  if  drawn  back  by  his  gaze. 

So  the  scene  lasted  for  a  half-hour,  during  which 
time  he  caught  no  glimpse  of  the  other  visitor.  At 


18  THE   HEART   LINE 

last  a  hand  was  outstretched  and  the  little  girl  rose. 
Francis  stepped  down  for  a  moment  to  rest  himself 
from  his  strained  position;  when  he  had  put  his  eye 
again  to  the  crack  she  had  passed  out  of  his  line  of 
sight. 

He  was  to  catch  a  few  words  more,  however,  before 
the  callers  left. 

"I'm  glad  you  came  to-day,"  Madam  Grant  said. 
"You  were  just  in  time." 

"Why,  are  you  going  to  leave  here?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  away." 

"Felicia,"  the  visitor  said  earnestly,  "why  won't  you 
let  us  take  care  of  you?  This  is  no  place  for  you — • 
it  is  dreadful  to  think  of  you  here !  Now,  while  you 
are  able  to  talk  to  me,  do  let  me  do  something  for 
you !" 

"No;  it's  too  late.  Besides,  there  is  Francis,"  said 
Madam  Grant. 

"Let  Francis  come,  too.  This  is  a  terrible  place 
for  a  child.  Look  at  this  room — look  at  the  filth  and 
disorder!" 

Madam  Grant's  voice  rose  again.  "Take  her  away, 
take  her  away!"  she  cried  raucously.  "She'll  go  to 
New  York,  she'll  go  to  Toledo — I  don't  want  her  in 
Toledo  meddling!  She'll  be  in  New  Orleans  the  first 
thing  you  know ;  there  she  goes  now !  Take  her  away, 
take  her  away!" 

The  door  closed.  Francis  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock.  Then  there  was  the  jarring  sound  of  a  fall 
and  finally  all  was  still.  He  waited  for  some  moments, 
then  he  called  out: 

"Mamsy,  let  me  out!  let  me  out!" 

There  was  no  reply, 


PROLOGUE  19 

"Mamsy!"  he  called  out  again.  "Where  are  you? 
Come  and  let  me  out,  please  let  me  out !" 

There  was  still  no  answer  to  his  pleadings.  In 
terror  now,  he  pounded  the  panels,  shook  the  handle 
of  the  door,  and  then  began  to  cry.  Climbing  upon 
the  box  again,  he  caught  sight  of  Madam  Grant's 
skirt.  She  was  lying  prone  upon  the  floor.  As  he 
wept  on,  she  moved  and  began  to  crawl  slowly  toward 
him.  At  last  her  hand  groped  to  the  door  and  the 
key  was  turned  in  the  lock.  He  burst  out  into  her 
arms. 

The  blood  was  gone  from  her  tense,  anguished  face ; 
one  hand  clutched  at  her  heart.  She  did  not  speak, 
but  gasped  horribly  for  breath.  There  was  no  need 
now  for  her  to  direct  him.  He  poured  out  a  dose  of 
medicine  and  forced  it  between  her  lips.  He  gave  her 
another  spoonful;  the  drops  trickled  from  her  mouth 
and  stained  the  front  of  her  crimson  gown.  Then, 
with  his  assistance,  she  crept  to  his  couch,  pulled  her- 
self upon  it  and  lay  down,  groaning.  He  sat  on  the 
floor  beside  her,  stroking  her  hand. 

For  some  time  she  was  too  weak  to  speak.  Her 
black  eyebrows  were  drawn  down,  the  cleft  between 
them  was  deep,  like  the  gash  of  a  knife.  Her  white 
hair  fell  about  her  head  in  disorder.  She  drew  a 
ragged  coverlid  over  her  chest,  as  if  suffering  from 
the  cold,  though  the  sun  shone  in  upon  her  as  she  lay 
and  mercilessly  illumined  her  desperate  face.  The 
spasm  of  agony  abated,  and  after  some  minutes  she 
breathed  more  freely.  Then,  with  a  sigh,  her  muscles 
relaxed  and  her  voice  came  clear  and  calm. 

"You  must  be  a  good  boy,  Francis,"  she  began, 
"for  I  am  going  away.  It's  all  over  now  with  the 


20  THE    HEART    LINE 

worry  and  the  puzzle  and  the  pain.  What  will  you 
do,  I  wonder?  Oliver  might  help,  perhaps.  Oliver 
isn't  so  bad,  down  in  his  heart.  He  was  fair  enough. 
There's  money  enough.  Francis,  when  I  fall  asleep, 
look  in  the  trunk  and  hide  the  money,  if  you  can — 
don't  let  them  get  it  away  from  you!  Wait  till  I'm 
asleep,  though — the  key  is  in  my  bag.  What  a  fool 
I  was !  I  might  have  known.  There  was  my  grand- 
mother, she  was  mad,  too.  It  may  stop  with  me — oh, 
she  was  a  dear  little  thing,  though!" 

"Who  was  the  little  girl,  Mamsy  ?"  Francis  inquired, 
his  curiosity  overcoming  his  fear  for  her. 

"Born  with  a  veil,  born  with  a  veil!  I  was  a  sev- 
enth daughter,  too — much  good  it  did  me !  I  could  tell 
others — who  could  tell  me?  Bosh!  it's  all  rubbish — 
we'll  never  know !  fol-de-rol,  Francis,  it's  all  gammon 
— all  but  Weenie.  Weenie  knows.  Yellow  hair,  too ; 
it  will  grow  gray  soon  enough !"  Then,  as  if  she  had 
just  heard  his  question  she  broke  our  querulously, 
"Where  did  you  see  her?" 

"I  looked  through  a  crack  in  the  door,  Mamsy." 

She  pulled  herself  up  in  a  frenzy  of  anger  and  shook 
her  finger  at  him.  "Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  You 
snooping,  sniping  monkey!  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
were  looking  at,  you  were  watching  the  train  to  New 
York!  You'll  go  to  Toledo,  will  you?  You  won't 
find  anything  there.  Go  to  New  Orleans;  there's 
plenty  to  find  out  in  New  Orleans!  In  Denver,  too, 
and  way  stations,  but  be  careful,  be  careful!  I  was 
born  in  Toledo."  She  sank  back  exhausted. 

"Don't  be  worried,  Mamsy,"  said  Francis,  attempt- 
ing to  calm  her.  "I  won't  never  go  to  Toledo, 
Mamsy!" 


PROLOGUE  21 

"Won't  never'!"  She  glared  at  him.  "What  did 
I  say  about  double  negatives,  boy?  Two  negatives 
make  a  positive,  two  pints  make  a  quart,  two  fools 
make  a  quarrel,  two  quarrels  make  a  fool.  What 
language!  I  was  at  Vassar,  too — I  was  secretary  of 
my  class!  Oh,  I  want  to  see  Victoria!  She  would 
understand,  Fm  sure!  Oh,  Francis!"  Her  voice 
dwindled  away  and  her  eyes  closed. 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  be  asleep.  Then  a 
sudden  convulsion  frightened  him.  She  spoke  again 
without  raising  her  lids. 

"Why,  there's  mother!  Come  and  kiss  me,  mother! 
Did  Weenie  send  for  you,  mother?  Oh,  Weenie! 
Who's  the  old  man?  Father?  I  never  saw  father  on 
this  side,  did  I,  Weenie?  He  passed  out  when  I  was 
very  little,  didn't  he?  So  many  people!  Why,  the 
room  is  full  of  them!  Yes,  I'm  coming — " 

The  boy  was  tugging  frantically  at  her  hand,  calling 
to  her  without  ceasing,  sobbing  in  his  fright.  He 
succeeded  at  last  in  bringing  her  out  of  her  trance  and 
she  opened  her  eyes  to  stare  at  him.  Her  breath  was 
coming  harder.  With  a  great  effort  she  reached  for 
the  boy's  head  and  pulled  it  nearer,  gazing  into  his 
frightened  eyes. 

"Poor  Francis  !"  she  gasped.  "You've  been  so  good, 
dear — you've  been  my  hope!  Felicia  Grant's  hope! 
You  have  no  name,  dear;  take  that  one,  instead  of 
mine — Francis  Granthope — oh,  this  pain!" 

"Shan't  I  get  you  the  medicine  ?"  he  asked,  sobbing. 

"No,  it's  no  use."  She  pushed  him  gently 
away.  "I'm  going — to  sleep — now —  Don't  call 
me  back,  Francis;  I  want  rest.  Remember  the 
trunk — good-by !" 


22  THE    HEART    LINE 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  rolled  over  on  her  side, 
turning  her  face  away  from  him. 

He  waited  half  an  hour  in  silence.  Then  he  put  his 
hands  to  her  arms  softly. 

"Mamsy!"  he  said  quietly  but  insistently.  "Are 
you  asleep,  Mamsy?"  There  was  no  answer. 

He  arose  and  looked  for  her  leather  bag.  He 
found  it  on  the  floor  where  she  had  fallen.  Opening 
it,  he  found  inside  a  heterogeneous  collection — 
strings,  hair-pins,  peppermints,  papers,  a  lock  of  hair  in 
an  envelope,  a  photograph,  several  gold  pieces,  and 
the  key — he  took  it  and  tiptoed  into  the  little  side  room 
with  excited  interest.  He  had  never  looked  inside  the 
trunk  before  and  his  eagerness  made  his  hands  tremble 
as  he  unlocked  it. 

On  top  was  a  tray  filled  with  account-books  and 
papers,  letters,  folded  newspapers  and  a  mahogany 
box.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  lift  it  to  get  at  what 
was  beneath.  He  struggled  with  it  until  he  had  tilted 
it  up  and  slid  it  down  to  the  floor. 

Below  was  a  mass  of  white  satin  and  lace.  He 
lifted  this  piece  by  piece,  disclosing  a  heavy  wedding 
gown,  silk-lined,  wrapped  in  tissue  paper,  and  many 
accessories  of  an  elaborate  trousseau — a  half-dozen 
pairs  of  silk  stockings,  a  pair  of  exquisite  white  satin 
slippers,  a  box  of  long  white  gloves,  another  of  lace 
handkerchiefs,  dozens  of  mysterious  articles  of  lingerie, 
embroidered  and  lace-trimmed.  In  a  lower  corner  was 
a  little,  white  vellum,  gold-clasped  prayer-book. 

Lastly  he  found  a  package  securely  wrapped  in 
brown  paper;  opening  this,  he  discovered  six  crisp, 
green  packages  of  bank-notes.  These  he  rewrapped 
and  slid  them  inside  his  full  blue  blouse.  Then  he  put 


PROLOGUE  23 

everything  back  in  order,  replaced  the  tray  and  locked 
the  trunk. 

Finally  he  stole  back  to  the  form  upon  the  couch. 
"Mamsy,  are  you  awake  ?"  he  whispered. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  shook  her  shoulder 
slightly.  Then,  as  she  made  no  reply,  he  leaned  over 
and  looked  at  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  open,  fearfully 
open,  but  they  did  not  turn  to  his.  They  were  set  and 
glazed  with  film. 

A  horror  came  over  him  now,  and  he  shook  her 
with  all  his  strength. 

"Mamsy,  Mamsy !"  he  cried.  "Look  at  me,  Mamsy ! 
What's  the  matter?" 

Still  she  did  not  look  at  him,  or  speak,  or  move.  He 
noticed  that  she  was  not  breathing,  and  his  fear  over- 
came him.  He  dropped  her  cold  hand  and  ran  scream- 
ing out  into  the  hall. 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   PALMIST   AND   FANCY   GRAY 

Fancy  Gray  was  the  lady's  name  and  the  lady's  hair 
was  red.  Both  were  characteristic  of  her  daringly 
original  character,  for,  as  Fancy's  name  had  once  been 
Fanny,  Fanny's  hair  had  once  been  brown.  Further 
indication  of  Miss  Gray's  disposition  was  to  be  found 
in  her  eyebrows,  which  were  whimsically  arched,  and 
her  mouth,  which  was  scarlet-lipped  and  tightly  held. 
Another  detail  of  significance  was  her  green  silk  stock- 
ings, rather  artfully  displayed  to  lend  a  harmony  to 
her  dark  green  cloth  tailor-made  suit,  which  fitted  like 
a  kid  glove  over  Miss  Gray's  cunningly  rounded  little 
body.  Her  eyes  were  brown  and  bright ;  they  were  as 
quick  as  heliograph  flashes,  but  could,  when  she 
willed,  burn  as  softly  as  glowing  coals  of  fire.  Her 
face  seemed  freshly  washed,  her  complexion  was  trans- 
lucently  clear,  modified  only  by  the  violet  shadows 
under  her  eyes  and  an  imperceptible  tint  of  fine  down 
on  her  upper  lip.  Her  hands,  well  beringed  and  well 
kept,  were  fully  worth  the  admiration  which,  by  her 
willingness  to  display  them  to  advantage,  she  seemed 
to  expect  on  their  account. 

In  New  York,  a  good  guesser  would  have  put  her 
age  at  twenty-three;  but,  taking  into  account  the 
precocious  effect  of  the  California  climate,  nineteen 
might  be  nearer  the  mark.  She  was,  at  all  events,  a 
finished  product ;  there  'was  no  evidence  of  diffidence 
or  gaucherie  about  Fancy  Gray.  She  appeared  to  be 

24 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   25 

very  well  satisfied  with  herself.  If,  as  she  evidently 
did,  she  considered  herself  beautiful,  her  claim  would 
undoubtedly  be  acknowledged  by  most  men  who  met 
her  for  the  first  time.  On  those  more  fastidious,  she 
had  but  to  smile  and  her  mouth  grew  still  more  gener- 
ous, showing  a  double  line  of  white  teeth,  those  in  the 
lower  jaw  being  set  slightly  zigzag,  as  if  they  were 
so  pretty  that  it  had  been  wished  to  put  in  as  many  as 
possible — her  cheeks  dimpled,  her  eyes  half  closed — 
and  she  triumphed  over  her  critic.  For  there  was 
something  more  dangerous  than  beauty  in  that  smile; 
there  was  an  elfin  humor  that  captured  and  bewil- 
dered— there  was  warmth  and  welcome  in  it.  It  made 
one  feel  happy. 

As  she  sat  at  her  desk  in  the  waiting-room  she  could 
look  across  the  corner  of  Geary  and  Powell  Streets  to 
catch  the  errant  eye  of  passing  cable-car  conductors, 
or  gaze,  in  abstraction,  at  pedestrians  crossing  Union 
Square,  or  at  the  oriental  towers  of  the  Synagogue 
beyond.  With  the  bait  of  a  promising  smile,  she 
caught  many  an  upward  glance.  Fancy  Gray  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  hiding  her  charms,  and  she  levied 
tribute,  to  her  beauty  on  all  mankind.  She  gazed  upon 
women,  however,  far  less  indulgently  than  upon  men ; 
never  was  there  a  more  captious  observer  of  her  sex. 
A  glance  up  and  a  glance  down  she  gave;  and  the 
specimen  was  classified,  appraised,  appreciated,  con- 
demned, condoned  or  complimented.  Not  a  pin  missed 
her  scrutiny,  not  a  variation  of  the  mode  escaped  her 
quest  for  revealing  evidence.  A  woman  could  hardly 
pass  from  contact  with  Fancy's  swift  glance  without 
being  robbed,  mentally,  of  everything  worth  while  that 
she  possessed  in  the  matter  of  novelty  in  fashion  or 


26  ^THE   HEART   LINE 

deportment.  Fancy  appropriated  the  ideas  thus  gained, 
and  made  use  of  them  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
The  waiting-room  bore,  upon  the  outside,  the  legend : 


FRANCIS   GRANTHOPE,    PALMIST 


Inside,  where  Fancy  sat  daily  from  ten  to  four,  the 
apartment  was  walled  and  carpeted  in  red.  Upon 
the  walls,  painted  wooden  Chinese  grotesque  masks, 
grinning  or  scowling  against  the  fire-cracker  paper, 
hung,  at  intervals,  from  black  stained  woodwork. 
Between  the  two  windows  was  a  plaster  column  bear- 
ing the  winged  head  of  Hypnos ;  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  was  a  row  of  casts  of  hands  hanging  on 
hooks  against  a  black  panel.  The  desk  in  the  corner 
was  Fancy's  station,  and  here  she  murmured  into  the 
telephone,  scribbled  appointments  in  a  blank-book,  read 
The  Second  Wife,  gazed  out  into  the  green  square, 
or  manicured  her  nails — according  as  the  waiting- 
room  chairs  were  empty,  or  occupied  with  men  or  with 
women.  Whatever  company  she  had,  she  was  never 
careless  of  the  light  upon  her  or  the  condition  of 
her  tinted  hair. 

It  was  a  cool,  blustering  afternoon  in  August. 
San  Francisco  was  at  its  worst  phase.  The  wind 
was  high  and  harsh,  harassing  the  city  with  its 
burden  of  dust.  Over  the  mountains,  on  the 
Marin  shore,  a  high  fog  hung,  its  advance  guard 
scudding  in  through  the  Golden  Gate,  piling  over 
the  hills  by  the  Twin  Peaks  and  preparing  its 
line  of  battle  for  a  general  assault  upon  the  pe- 
ninsula at  nightfall.  In  the  streets  men  and  women 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   27 

clung  to  their  hats  savagely  as  they  passed  gusty 
corners,  and  coat  collars  were  turned  up  against  the 
raw  air.  Summer  had,  so  far,  spent  its  effort  in  four 
violently  hot  days,  when  the  humid  atmosphere  made 
the  temperature  unbearable.  Now  the  weather  had 
flung  back  to  an  extreme  as  unpleasant;  open  fires 
were  in  order.  There  was  one  now  burning  in 
Granthope's  reception-room,  to  which  Fancy  Gray 
made  frequent  excursions.  She  was  there,  making  a 
picture  of  herself  beside  the  hearth,  having  resolutely 
held  her  pose  for  some  time  in  anticipation  of  his 
coming,  when  Francis  Granthope  arrived. 

Tall,  erect  and  able-bodied,  with  the  physique  of  an 
athlete,  and  a  strong,  leonine  head  covered  with  crisp, 
waving,  black  hair,  Francis  Granthope  had  the  comple- 
ment of  the  actor's  type  of  looks ;  but  his  alertness  of 
carriage  and  his  swift,  searching  glance  distinguished 
him  from  the  professional  male  beauty.  Fine  eyes  of 
deep,  rich  blue,  fine  teeth  often  exposed  in  compelling 
smiles,  a  resolute  mouth  and  a  firm,  deeply  cleft  chin 
he  had;  and  all  these  attractions  were  set  off  by  his 
precise  dress — gloves,  bell-tailed  overcoat,  sharply 
creased  trousers,  varnished  boots  and  silk  hat.  A 
short  mustache,  curling  upward  slightly  at  the  ends, 
and  a  small,  triangular  tuft  of  hair  on  his  lower  lip 
gave  him  a  somewhat  foreign  aspect.  He  had  an  air,  a 
manner,  that  kept  up  the  illusion.  Men  would  perhaps 
have  distrusted  him  as  too  obviously  handsome ;  women 
would  talk  about  him  as  soon  as  he  had  left  the  room. 
Stage  managers  would  have  complimented  his  "pres- 
ence" ;  children  would  have  watched  him,  fascinated, 
reserving  their  judgment.  He  seemed  to  fill  the  room 
with  electricity. 


28  THE   HEART    LINE 

He  sent  a  smile  to  Fancy,  half  of  welcome,  half  of 
amusement  at  her  picturesque  posture,  and,  with  cor- 
dial "Good  morning !"  in  a  mellow  barytone,  removed 
his  overcoat  and  hat,  putting  them  into  a  closet  near 
the  hall  door.  He  reappeared  in  morning  coat,  white 
waistcoat  and  pin-checked  trousers,  with  a  red  car- 
nation in  his  buttonhole.  He  held  his  hands  for  a 
moment  before  the  fire,  then  looked  indulgently  at  his 
blithe  assistant. 

Now,  one  of  Fancy's  charms  was  a  slender,  pointed 
tongue.  This  she  was  wont  to  exhibit,  on  occasion, 
by  sticking  it  out  of  her  mouth  coquettishly,  and 
shaking  it  saucily  in  the  direction  of  her  nostrils — a 
joyous  exploit  which  was  vouchsafed  only  upon  rare 
and  intimate  occasions.  This,  now,  she  did,  tilting  her 
head  backward  to  give  piquancy  to  the  performance. 

Granthope  laughed,  and  went  over  to  where  she  sat. 

"You're  a  saucy  bird,  Fancy,"  he  commented,  lean- 
ing over  her,  both  hands  upon  the  desk.  "Do  you 
know  I  rather  like  you  !" 

Her  face  grew  drolly  sober;  her  whimsical  eyebrows 
lifted. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  blame  you,"  she  replied.  "You 
always  did  have  good  taste,  though." 

"I  believe  that  I  might  go  so  far  as  to  imprint  a 
salute  upon  your  chaste  brow !" 

"I  accept!"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

He  stooped  over  and  kissed  her.  She  was  graciously 
resigned. 

"Thank  you,  Frank,"  she  said  demurely.  "Small 
contributions  gratefully  received."  She  tucked  her 
head  into  the  corner  of  his  arm,  and  he  looked  down 
upon  her  kindly. 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   29 

"Poor  little  Fancy!"  he  said  softly. 

"Have  you  missed  me,  Frank?" 

"Horribly!" 

"Don't  laugh  at  me  !" 

"How  can  I  help  it,  O  toy  queen?" 

"Am  I  so  awfully  young?" 

"You're  pretty  juvenile,  Fancy,  but  you'll  grow  up, 
I  think." 

She  was  quite  sober  now.  "Oh,  there's  an  awful 
lot  of  time  wasted  in  growing  up,"  she  said.  Then 
she  squirmed  her  head  so  that  she  could  look  upward 
at  him.  "You've  been  awfully  good  to  me,  Frank!" 
Her  tone  was  wistful. 

"You  deserve  more  than  you  will  ever  get,  I'm 
afraid,"  was  his  answer  as  he  patted  her  hair. 

"I  think  you  do  like  me  a  little." 

He  shook  his  finger  at  her.  "No  fair  falling  in 
love!" 

She  laughed.     "I  believe  you're  afraid,  Frank!" 

"I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  without  you,  Fancy. 
We've  been  through  a  good  deal  together,  first  and 
last,  haven't  we?" 

"Yes,  we've  had  a  good  time.  I'd  like  to  do  it  all 
over  again." 

"Heavens,  no !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  wouldn't !  There's 
enough  ahead.  From  what  I've  seen  of  life,  things 
don't  really  begin  to  happen  till  you're  thirty,  at  least. 
All  this  will  seem  like  a  dream." 

"Sometimes  I  hope  it  will."  Fancy  was  looking 
away,  now.  Her  gaze  returned  to  him  after  a  moment 
of  silence.  "Don't  you  ever  think  of  getting  out  of 
this,  Frank?  You're  too  good  for  these  fakirs,  really 
you  are !  Why,  you  could  mix  with  millionaires,  easy ! 


30  THE    HEART    LINE 

And  you've  got  a  good  start,  now.  They  like  you. 
You've  got  the  style  and  the  education  and  the  'know' 
for  it." 

He  went  back  to  the  fireplace,  standing  there  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back. 

"Oh,  this  is  amusing  enough.  What  does  it  matter, 
anyway?  There  are  as  big  fools  and  shams  in  society 
as  there  are  in  my  business.  Look  at  the  women  that 
come  down  here,  and  the  things  they  tell  me !  Why, 
I  know  them  a  good  deal  better  now  than  I  should  if 
I  were  on  their  calling-lists  and  took  tea  with  them! 
But  you  are  right,  in  a  way.  I  suppose  some  day  I 
must  quit  this  and  take  to  honest  theft." 

"Don't  say  that,  Frank!  I  hate  you  when  you're 
cynical." 

"What  else  can  I  be,  in  my  profession?" 

"Oh,  I  do  want  you  to  quit,  Frank,  really  I  do,  and 
yet,  I  hate  to  think  of  it.  What  should  I  do  ?  I'd  lose 
you  sure !  I  could  never  make  good  with  the  swells. 
I'm  only  a  drifter." 

"Oh,  you  can't  lose  me,  Fan;  we've  pulled  together 
too  long.  You  could  make  good  all  right.  You've  got 
a  pose  and  a  poise  that  some  ladies  would  give  their 
teeth  for.  I  don't  believe  you've  ever  really  been  sur- 
prised in  your  life,  have  you  ?" 

"I  guess  not."  Fancy  shook  her  head  thoughtfully. 
"When  I  am  surprised,  it'll  be  a  woman  who'll  do  it. 
No  man  can,  that's  sure." 

"No.  I  fancy  you  know  all  there  is  to  know  about 
men.  I  wish  I  did.  You'll  do,  Fancy  Gray!"  He 
approached  her  and  playfully  chucked  her  under  the 
chin.  Then  he  looked  at  her  gravely.  "I  wonder  why 
you're  willing  to  drudge  along  here  with  me,  anyway. 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   31 

You  could  get  a  much  better  position  easily — with 
your  face — and  brains." 

"And  figure.  Don't  forget  that!"  Fancy  shook 
her  finger  at  him. 

"Yes."    He  looked  her  over  approvingly. 

"No  woman  ought  to  be  blue  with  a  figure  like  mine, 
ought  she?" 

He  laughed.  "I  can't  imagine  your  ever  being  blue. 
Fancy !" 

Fancy  opened  her  eyes  very  wide. 

"There's  a  whole  lot  you  don't  know  about  women 
yet,"  she  said  sagely. 

"That's  likely." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  I'm  fired,  then?"  She 
tried  to  appear  demure. 

"Not  yet.  I'm  only  too  afraid  you'll  resign.  It's 
queer  you  don't  get  married.  You  must  have  had  lots 
of  chances.  Why  don't  you,  Fancy?" 

"I  never  explain,"  said  Fancy.  "It  only  wastes 
time." 

He  went  over  to  her  again  and  very  affectionately 
boxed  her  ears. 

She  freed  herself,  and  turned  her  face  up  to  him. 
"Frank,"  she  said,  "do  you  think  I'm  pretty?" 

"You're  too  pretty — that's  the  trouble !"  he  answered, 
smiling,  as  at  a  familiar  trait. 

"No,  but  really — do  you  honestly  think  so?"  Her 
face  had  again  grown  plaintive. 

"Yes,  Fancy.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  flatter  or  cajole 
with  the  compliments  of  a  five-dollar  reading,  but  as 
between  friends,  and  with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  I 
assert  that  you  are  beautiful." 

"I  don't  mean  that  at  all,"  said  Fancy.    "I  want  to  be 


32  THE   HEART    LINE 

pretty.  That's  what  men- like — pretty  girls.  Beautiful 
women  never  get  anywhere  except  into  the  divorce 
courts.  Do  say  I'm  pretty !" 

"Fancy,  you  know  I'm  a  connoisseur  of  women. 
You  are  actually  and  absolutely  pretty." 

"Well,  that's  a  great  relief,  if  I  can  only  believe  you. 
I  have  to  hear  it  once  a  day,  at  least,  to  keep  up  my 
courage.  Now  that's  settled,  let's  go  to  work." 

He  went  back  to  the  fireplace  and  yawned.  "All 
right.  What's  doing  to-day  ?" 

"Full  up,  except  from  eleven  to  twelve." 

"Who  are  they?" 

Fancy  jauntily  nipped  open  the  appointment  book 
and  ran  her  forefinger  down  the  page. 

"Ten  o'clock,  stranger,  Fleurette  Heller.  Telephone 
appointment.  Girl  with  a  nice  voice." 

"Be  sure  and  look  at  her,"  Granthope  remarked ;  "I 
may  want  a  tip." 

"Ten-thirty,  Mrs.  Page." 

Granthope  smiled  and  Fancy  smiled. 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  told  her?" 

Fancy  looked  puzzled.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  About 
her  husband?" 

"No,  not  that.  The  last  time  she  came  I  tried  a 
psychological  experiment  with  her.  I  told  her  that 
normally  she  was  a  quiet,  restrained,  modest,  discreet 
woman,  but  that  at  times  her  emotional  nature  would 
get  the  better  of  her;  that  she  couldn't  help  breaking 
out  and  would  suddenly  let  go.  I  thought  she  was 
about  due  this  week.  There's  been  something  doing 
and  she  wants  to  tell  me  about  it  to  appease  her  con- 
science. Give  them  what  they  want,  and  anything 
goes !" 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   33 

Fancy  listened,  frowning,  the  point  of  her  pencil 
between  her  lips.  "You  don't  need  any  of  my  tips  on 
Mrs.  Page/'  she  said  with  sarcasm.  "At  eleven,  Mr. 
Summer,  whoever  he  is." 

"I  don't  care,  if  he's  got  the  price." 

"It  bores  you  to  read  for  men,  doesn't  it,  Frank?  J 
wish  you'd  let  me  do  it." 

As  she  spoke,  the  telephone  bell  on  the  desk  rang, 
and  she  took  up  the  receiver,  drooping  her  head 
coquettishly. 

"Yes?"  she  said  dreamily,  her  eyes  on  Granthope, 
who  had  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Yes,  half-past  eleven  o'clock,  if  that  would  be  con- 
venient. What  name,  please?  .  .  .  No,  any  name  will 
do Miss  Smith?  All  right — good-by." 

She  entered  the  appointment  in  her  book,  and  then 
remarked  decidedly,  "She's  pretty !" 

"No  objections ;  they're  my  specialty,"  Granthope 
replied ;  "only  I  doubt  it." 

"Never  failed  yet,"  said  Fancy. 

Granthope  looked  at  his  watch,  then  passed  through 
a  red  anteroom  to  his  studio  beyond.  Fancy  began  to 
draw  little  squares  and  circles  and  fuzzy  heads  of  men 
with  mustaches  upon  a  sheet  of  paper.  In  a  few 
moments  the  palmist  returned,  his  morning  coat 
replaced  by  a  black  velvet  jacket  tight-fitting  and  but- 
toned close. 

"Oh,  Fancy,  take  a  few  notes,  please ;  you  didn't  get 
that  last  one  yesterday,  I  believe." 

She  reached  for  a  lacquered  tin  box,  containing  a 
card  catalogue,  withdrew  a  blank  slip  and  dipped  her 
pen  in  the  ink.  Then,  as  he  stopped  to  think,  she 
remarked : 


34  THE   HEART   LINE 

"I  don't  see  why  you  go  to  all  this  trouble,  Frank, 
Nobody  else  does.  You've  a  good  enough  memory, 
and  I  think  it's  silly.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  bookkeeper 
in  a  business  house." 

"One  might  as  well  be  systematic,"  he  returned. 
"There's  no  knowing  when  all  this  will  come  in  handy. 
I  don't  intend  to  give  five-dollar  readings  all  my  life. 
I'm  going  to  develop  this  thing  till  it's  a  fine  art. 
I've  got  to  do  something  to  dignify  the  trade.  This 
doesn't  use  nearly  all  that's  in  me.  I  wish  I  had  some- 
thing to  do  that  would  take  all  my  intellect — it's  all 
too  easy!-  I  don't  half  try.  But  it's  a  living.  God 
knows  I  don't  care  for  the  money — nor  for  fame  either, 
for  that  matter.  Fame's  a  gold  brick ;  you  always  pay 
more  for  it  than  it's  worth.  I  suppose  it's  the  sheer 
love  of  the  game.  I  have  a  scientific  delight  in  doing 
my  stunt  better  than  it  has  ever  been  done  before. 
Some  play  on  fiddles,  I  play  on  women — and  make 
'em  dance,  too !  Some  love  machinery,  some  study 
electricity — but  the  wireless,  wheel-less  mechanics  of 
psychology  for  mine.  Practical  psychology  with  a 
human  laboratory.  Pour  the  acid  of  flattery,  and 
human  litmus  turns  red  with  delight.  Try  the 
alkali  of  disapproval,  and  it  grows  blue  with  disap- 
pointment. I  give  them  a  run  for  their  money,  too. 
I  make  life  wonderful  for  poor  fools  who  haven't  the 
wit  to  do  it  for  themselves.  I  peddle  imagination, 
Fancy." 

"You  get  good  prices,"  Fancy  said,  smiling  a  bit 
sadly.  "There  are  perquisites.  There  aren't  many  men 
who  have  the  chances  you  do,  Frank.  Women  are  cer- 
tainly crazy  about  you,  and  now  that  you're  taken  up 
by  the  smart  set,  I  expect  you  will  be  spoiled  pretty 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   35 

quick."  She  shook  her  head  coquettishly  and  dropped 
her  eyes. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  should  think  you 
would  be  almost  ashamed  of  being  a  woman,  Fan, 
sometimes,"  he  said.  "They  are  all  alike,  I  believe." 

Fancy  bridled.  Then  she  bit  her  lip.  "You'll  meet 
your  match  some  day !" 

"God,  I  hope  so!  It'll  make  things  interesting. 
Nothing  matters  now.  I  haven't  really  wanted  any- 
thing for  years;  and  when  you  don't  want  anything, 
Fancy,  the  garlands  are  hung  for  you  in  every  house." 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  conscience,  Frank?" 

"Not  I.  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  if  I 
had  one.  I  don't  see  much  difference  between  right 
and  wrong.  We  give  them  what  they  want,  as  clergy- 
men do.  It  may  be  true  and  it  may  be  false.  So  may 
religion.  There  are  a  hundred  different  kinds — some 
of  them  teach  that  you  ought  to  kill  your  grandmother 
when  she  gets  to  be  fifty  years  old.  Some  teach 
clothing  and  some  teach  nakedness.  Some  preach 
chastity — and  some  the  other  thing.  Who's  going  to 
tell  what's  right  ?  My  readings  are  scientific ;  my  pre- 
dictions may  be  true,  for  all  I  know.  Some  I  help  and 
some  I  harm,  no  doubt.  But  from  all  I  can  see,  God 
Himself  does  that.  Take  that  Bennett  affair !  He  lost 
his  money,  but  didn't  he  have  a  good  taste  of  life? 
We'll  never  know  the  truth,  anyway.  Why  not  fool 
fools  who  think  there's  an  answer  to  everything,  and 
make  'em  happy?  Do  you  remember  that  first  time 
we  played  for  Harry  Wing?  I  was  new  at  it  then. 
When  I  crawled  through  the  panel  and  put  on  the  robe, 
the  tears  were  streaming  down  my  face  to  think  I  was 
going  to  fool  an  old  man  into  believing  I  was  his  dead 


36  THE    HEART    LINE 

son.  What  was  the  result  ?  He  was  so  happy  that  he 
gave  me  his  gold  watch  to  be  dematerialized  for 
identification.  He  got  more  solid  satisfaction  and 
comfort  out  of  that  trick  than  he  had  out  of  a  year  of 
sermons.  I  only  wish  I  could  fool  myself  as  easily  as 
I  can  fool  others — then  I  could  be  happy  myself." 

"Why,  aren't  you  happy,  Frank?"  Fancy  asked,  her 
eyes  full  of  him.  "I  wish  I  could  do  something  to 
make  you  happy — I'd  do  anything !" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  unhappy,"  he  said  lightly,  neglecting 
her  appeal.  "I  can't  seem  to  suffer  any  more  than  I 
can  really  enjoy.  I  suppose  I  haven't  any  soul.  I  need 
ambition — inspiration.  But  we  must  get  to  work. 
Are  you  ready?" 

Fancy  nodded. 

"August  5th,"  he  dictated.  "Mrs.  Riley.  Age  sixty- 
five.  Spatulate,  extreme  type.  Wrist,  B.  Fingers, 
B,  X,  5.  Life  27.  Head  18.  Heart  4.  Fate  12.  3 
girdles.  Venus  B.  Mars  A.  Thumb  phalange  over- 
developed. Right,  ditto.  Now : — married  three  times, 
arm  broken  in  '94,  one  daughter,  takes  cocaine,  inter- 
ested in  mines.  Last  husband  knew  General  Custer 
and  Lew  Wallace.  Accidentally  drowned,  1877. 
Accused  of  murder  and  acquitted  in  1878.  Very  poor. 

"Don't  forget  to  look  up  Lew  Wallace,  Fancy !  Go 
down  to  the  library  to-night,  will  you  ?"  he  said,  laying 
down  his  note-book. 

"Where  did  you  ever  get  that  old  dame?" 

"Madam  Spoil  sent  her  here.  She's  easy,  but  no 
money  in  her.  Still,  I  like  to  be  thorough,  even  with 
charity  cases;  you  never  know  what  may  come  of 
them." 

The  telephone  bell  prevented  Fancy's  reply.     She 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   37 

took  up  the  receiver  and  said  "Yes"  in  a  languishing 
drawl. 

"Yes.  Number  15?  ....  Payson?  Spell  it  .... 
Hold  the  line  a  minute."  She  turned  to  Granthope, 
her  ear  still  to  the  receiver,  her  hand  muffling  the 
mouth-piece. 

"Funny.  Speak  of  angels — here's  Madam  Spoil 
now !  She  wants  to  know  if  you've  got  anything  about 
Oliver  Payson?" 

"Payson?"  he  repeated.  "Oliver  Payson?  No,  I 
don't  think  so,  have  we?" 

"I  don't  remember  the  name,  but  I'll  -run  over 
the  cards.  Talk  about  method!  I  wish  Madam 
Spoil  had  some!  P.,  Packard,  Page — no;  no  Payson 
here."  She  returned  to  the  telephone.  "No,  we  have 
nothing  at  all.  Good-by."  Then  she  hung  up  the 
receiver. 

Granthope,  meanwhile,  had  been  walking  up  and 
down  the  room,  frowning. 

"It's  queer — that  name  is  somehow  familiar;  I've 
heard  of  it  somewhere.  Oliver  Payson — Oliver  Pay- 
son." 

"Funny  how  you  never  can  think  of  a  thing  when 
you  want  to,"  said  Fancy,  sharpening  her  pencil. 

"I  know  something  about  Oliver  Payson,"  Granthope 
insisted.  "But  it's  no  use,  I  can't  get  it.  Perhaps  it 
will  come  to  me." 

"You  never  know  what  you  can  do  till  you  stop  try- 
ing," Fancy  offered  sagely. 

Granthope  spoke  abstractedly,  gazing  at  the  ceiling. 
"It's  something  about  a  picture,  it  seems  to  me." 

He  walked  into  his  studio,  still  puzzling  with  blurred 
memories.  Fancy  took  up  The  Second  Wife. 


38  THE   HEART   LINE 

At  ten  o'clock  the  door  opened,  and  Fancy's  hand 
flew  to  her  back  hair.  A  girl  of  perhaps  twenty  years 
with  intense  eyes  entered  timidly.  Her  hair  was  dis- 
tracted by  the  wind  and  her  color  was  high,  increasing 
the  charm  of  her  pretty,  earnest,  finely  freckled  face. 
She  wore  a  jacket  a  little  too  small  for  her,  with  frayed 
cuffs.  Her  shoes  were  badly  worn ;  her  hat  was  cheap, 
but  effective. 

"I  called  to  see  Mr.  Granthope;  I  think  I  have  an 
appointment  at  ten,"  she  said. 

"Miss  Heller?"  Fancy  asked.  The  girl  nodded. 
Fancy  took  inventory  of  the  girl's  points,  looking  her 
up  and  down  before  she  replied,  "All  right;  just  be 
seated  for  a  moment,  please." 

She  walked  to  the  studio  and  met  Granthope  coming 
out.  They  spoke  in  whispers. 

"Let  her  down  easy,"  Fancy  suggested.  "It's  a  love 
affair.  She  has  a  letter  in  her  coat  pocket,  all  folded 
up;  you  can  see  the  wrinkles  where  it  bulges  out. 
Hat  pin  made  of  an  army  button,  and  she  doesn't 
know  enough  to  paint.  Make  her  take  off  her  coat 
and  see  if  her  right  sleeve  isn't  soiled  above  where  she 
usually  wears  a  paper  cuff  to  protect  it.  She  is  half 
frightened  to  death  and  she  has  been  crying." 

"All  right,"  said  Granthope.  "I'll  give  her  five  dol- 
lars' worth  of  optimism." 

Fancy  put  her  hand  in  his  softly.  "Say,  Frank,  just 
charge  this  to  me  and  be  good  to  her,  will  you  ?" 

"All  right.  If  you  like  her,  I'll  do  my  best.  She'll 
be  smiling  when  she  comes  out,  you  see  if  she  isn't." 

As  the  girl  went  in  for  her  reading,  Mrs.  Page  walked 
into  the  reception-room,  and  nodded  condescendingly. 
She  was  a  dashing  woman  of  thirty-five,  full  of  the 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   39 

exuberance  and  flamboyant  color  of  California.  Her 
hair  was  jet  black  and  glossy,  massively  coiled  upon  her 
head;  her  features  were  large,  but  regular  and  well 
formed ;  her  figure  somewhat  voluptuous  in  its  tightly 
fitting  tailor  suit  of  black.  She  was  a  vivid  creature, 
with  impellent  animal  life  and  temperament  linked, 
apparently,  to  a  rather  silly,  feminine  brain.  Her 
mouth  was  large,  and  in  it  white  teeth  shone.  She  was 
all  shadows  and  flashes,  high  lights  and  depths  of 
velvety  black.  From  her  ears,  two  spots  of  diamond 
radiance  twinkled  as  she  shook  her  head.  When  she 
drew  off  her  gloves,  with  a  manner,  more  twinkles 
illuminated  her  hands.  Still  others  shone  from  the 
cut  steel  buckles  of  her  shoes.  She  was  somewhat 
overgrown,  flavorless  and  gaudy,  like  California  fruit, 
and  her  ways  were  kittenish.  Her  movements  were 
all  intense.  When  she  looked  at  anything,  she  opened 
her  eyes  very  wide ;  when  she  spoke  she  pursed  her  lips 
a  bit  too  much.  Altogether  she  seemed  to  have  a 
superfluous  ounce  of  blood  in  her  veins  that  infused 
her  with  useless  energy. 

Fancy  eyed  her  pragmatically,  added  her  up, 
extracted  her  square  root  and  greatest  common  divisor. 
The  result  she  reached  was  evident  only  by  the 
imperious  way  in  which  she  invited  her  to  be  seated 
and  the  nonchalant  manner  in  which,  after  that,  she 
gazed  out  upon  Geary  Street. 

Mrs.  Page,  however,  would  be  loquacious. 

"Shall  I  have  to  wait  long?"  she  asked.  "I  have 
an  engagement  at  eleven  and  I  simply  must  see  Mr. 
Granthope  first !  It's  very  important." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fancy  coolly.  "It  depends 
upon  whether  he  has  an  .interesting  sitter  or  not. 


40  THE    HEART    LINE 

Sometimes  he's  an  hour,  and  sometimes  he's  only 
fifteen  minutes."  She  spoke  with  a  slightly  stinging 
emphasis,  examining,  meanwhile,  the  spots  on  her  own 
finger-nails. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs  Page,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
remark  gave  her  an  idea  as  to  her  own  personal  powers 
of  attraction.  "I  thought  Mr.  Granthope  treated  all 
his  patrons  alike." 

"Sometimes  he  does  and  sometimes  he  doesn't,"  was 
Fancy's  cryptic  retort.  She  watched  the  effect  under 
drooped  lashes. 

The  effect  was  to  make  Mrs.  Page  squirm  uneasily, 
as  if  she  didn't  know  whether  she  had  been  hit  or  not. 
She  took  refuge  in  the  remark:  "Well,  I  hope  he  will 
give  me  a  good  reading  this  time." 

"It  all  depends  on  what's  in  your  hand,"  Fancy 
followed  her  up,  smiling  amiably. 

Mrs.  Page  minced  and  simpered :  "Do  you  know, 
somehow  I  hate  to  have  him  look  at  my  hand,  after 
what  he  said  before.  He  told  me  such  dreadful  things, 
I'm  afraid  he'll  discover  more." 

"Why  do  you  give  him  a  chance,  then  ?"  said  Fancy 
coldly. 

"Oh,  I  hope  he'll  find  something  better,  this  time !" 

"Weren't  you  satisfied  with  what  he  gave  you?" 
Fancy  asked.  "I  have  found  Mr.  Granthope  usually 
strikes  it  about  right." 

"Oh,  of  course,  I'm  satisfied,"  Mrs.  Page  admitted. 
"In  fact,  I  trust  him  so  implicitly  that  I  have  acted 
on  his  advice.  But  it's  rather  dreadful-  to  know  the 
truth,  don't  you  think?" 

Fancy  nodded  her  head  soberly.  "Sometimes  it  is," 
She  accented  the  adverb  mischievously. 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   41 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  what  you  mean  at  all !" 

"I  know.  You  mean  it's  dreadful  to  have  other 
people  know  the  truth?" 

"No ;  but  I  can't  help  my  character,  can  I  ?  It's  not 
my  fault  if  I  have  faults.  It's  all  written  in  my  palm 
and  I  can't  alter  it.  Only,  I  mean  it's  awful  to  know 
exactly  what's  going  to  happen  and  not  be  able  to 
prevent  it." 

"It's  worse  not  to  want  to."  Fancy  waved  her  hand 
to  some  one  in  the  street. 

Mrs.  Page  withdrew  from  the  conversation,  routed, 
and  devoted  herself  to  a  study  of  the  Chinese  masks, 
casting  an  occasional  impatient  glance  into  the  ante- 
room. Fancy  polished  her  rings  with  her  handker- 
chief. 

Granthope's  voice  was  now  heard,  talking  pleas- 
antly with  Fleurette,  who  was  smiling,  as  he  had 
promised.  As  she  left,  flushed  and  happy,  Granthope 
greeted  Mrs.  Page,  and  escorted  her,  bubbling  with 
talk,  into  the  studio.  The  door  closed  upon  a  per- 
vading odor  of  sandalwood,  Mrs.  Page's  legacy  to 
Fancy,  who  sniffed  at  it  scornfully. 

Many  cable-cars  had  passed  without  Fancy's  having 
recognized  any  one  worth  bowing  to,  before  the  next 
client  appeared ;  but,  at  that  visitor's  entry,  she  became 
a  different  creature.  Her  eyes  never  really  left  him, 
although  she  seemed,  as  he  waited,  to  be  busy  about 
many  things. 

He  was  a  smart  young  man,  a  sort  of  a  bank-clerk 
person,  dressed  neatly,  with  evidence  of  considerable 
premeditation.  His  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle, 
his  face  was  cleanly  shaven.  His  sparkling,  laughing 
eyes,  devilishly  audacious,  his  pink  cheeks  and  his  cool 


42  THE    HEART    LINE 

self-assured  manner  gave  him  an  appearance  of 
juvenile,  immaculate  freshness,  which  rendered  an 
acquaintance  with  such  a  San  Francisco  girl  as  Fancy 
Gray,  easy  and  agreeable.  He  laid  his  hat  and  stick 
against  his  hip  jauntily,  and  asked: 

"Could  I  get  a  reading  from  Mr.  Granthope  with- 
out waiting  all  day  for  it?"  As  he  spoke  he  loosed  a 
frivolous,  engaging  glance  at  her. 

"He'll  be  out  in  just  a  moment,"  Fancy  replied  with 
more  interest  than  she  had  heretofore  shown.  "Won't 
you  sit  down  and  wait,  please  ?" 

He  withdrew  his  eyes  long  enough  to  gallop  round 
the  room  with  them,  but  they  returned  to  her  like 
horses  making  for  a  stable.  He  took  a  seat,  pulled 
up  his  trousers  over  his  knees,  drew  down  his  cuffs, 
felt  the  knot  in  his  tie  and  smoothed  his  hair,  all  with 
the  quick,  accurate  motion  due  to  long  habit.  "Horri- 
ble weather,"  he  volunteered  debonairly. 

"It's  something  fierce,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Fancy,  opening 
and  shutting  drawers,  searching  for  nothing.  "It 
gets  on  my  nerves.  I  wish  we'd  have  one  good  warm 
day  for  a  change." 

"Been  out  to  the  beach  lately?"  he  asked,  eying  her 
with  undisguised  approval.  He  breathed  on  the  crown 
:of  his  derby  hat  and  then  smelt  of  it. 

"No,"  she  replied.  "I  don't  have  much  time  to 
myself.  I  hate  to  go  alone,  anyway."  Fancy  looked 
aimlessly  into  the  top  drawer  of  her  desk. 

"That's  too  bad!  But  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  ever 
have  to  go  alone.  You  don't  look  it." 

"Really?"     Fancy's  tone  was  arch. 

"That's  right!  I  know  some  one  who'd  be  willing 
.to  chase  out  there  with  you  at  .the  drop  of  the  hat." 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   43 

Fancy,  appearing  to  feel  that  the  acquaintance  was 
making  too  rapid  progress,  said,  "I  don't  care  much 
for  the  beach ;  it's  too  crowded." 

"That  depends  upon  when  you  go.  I've  got  a  car  out 
there  where  we  could  get  lost  easy  enough.  Then  you 
can  have  a  quiet  little  dinner  at  the  Cliff  House  almost 
any  night." 

"Can  you?    I  never  tried  it." 

"It's  time  you  did.     Suppose  you  try  it  with  me?" 

Fancy  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  at  him  and  let  him 
have  the  full  benefit  of  her  stare.  "Isn't  this  rather 
sudden?  You're  rushing  it  a  little  too  fast,  seems 
to  me." 

"Not  for-  me.  I'm  sorry  you  can't  keep  up.  You 
don't  look  slow." 

Fancy  turned  to  her  engagement  book. 

"You  must  have  known  some  pretty  easy-ones,"  she 
said  sarcastically. 

The  snub  did  not  silence  him  for  long.  He  recrossed 
his  legs,  drummed  on  the  brim  of  his  hat,  aik!  began : 

"Say,  did  you  ever  go  to  Carminetti's  ?" 

"No,  where  is  it?" 

"Down  on  Davis  Street.  They  have  a  pretty  lively 
time  there  on  Sunday  nights.  Everybody  goes,  you 
know — gay  old  crowd.  They  sing  and  everything. 
It's  the  only  really  Bohemian  place  in  town  now." 

"I'm  never  hungry  on  Sundays,"  Fancy  said  coolly. 

"Nor  thirsty,  either?" 

"Sir?"  she  said  in  mock  reproof,  and  then  burst 
into  a  laugh. 

"Say,  you  scared  me  all  right,  that  time!" 

"You  don't  look  like  you  would  be  scared  easy, 
I  guess  it's  kind  of  hard  to  call  you  down." 


44  THE   HEART    LINE 

He  folded  his  arms  and  squared  his  shoulders.  "I 
don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  don't  seem  to  make  much  of 
a  hit  with  you !" 

"Oh,  you  may  improve!" 

"Upon  acquaintance  ?" 

"Perhaps.    You're  not  in  a  hurry,  are  you?" 

"That's  what  I  am  !"  He  went  at  her  now  with  more 
vigor.  "I  say,  would  you  mind  telling  me  your  name  ? 
Here's  my  card." 

He  rose,  and,  walking  over  to  the  desk,  laid  down  a 
card  upon  which  was  printed,  "Mr.  Gay  P.  Summer.'1 
Fancy  examined  it  deliberately.  Then  she  looked  up 
and  said  : 

"My  name  is  Miss  Gray,  if  you  must  know.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"I'll  show  you!"  he  laughed,  drawing  nearer. 

What  might  possibly  have  happened  (for  things  do 
happen  in  San  Francisco)  was  interrupted  by  sounds 
predicting  Mrs.  Page's  return. 

"Say,  Miss  Gray,  I'll  ring  you  up  later  and  make  a 
date,"  he  said  under  his  breath.  Then  he  turned  to 
Mrs.  Page  and  stared  her  out  of  the  room  with  undis- 
guised curiosity. 

"You  can  see  Mr.  Granthope  now,"  said  Fancy, 
unruffled  by  the  competition. 

He  made  an  airy  gesture  and  followed  the  palmist 
into  the  anteroom. 

Fancy  grew  listless  and  abstracted.  After  a  while 
she  went  to  the  closet,  examined  herself  in  the  glass 
on  the  door,  adjusted  the  back  of  her  belt,  fluffed  her 
hair  over  her  ears  and  reseated  herself.  Then  she  took 
her  book  languidly  and  began  to  read. 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door. 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   45 

"Come  in,"  Fancy  called  out,  arousing  herself  again. 

The  new-comer  was  one  who,  though  at  least  twenty- 
seven,  was  still  graciously  modeled  with  the  lines  of 
youth.  Her  head  was  poised  with  spirit  on  her  neck, 
but,  like  a  flower  on  its  stem,  ready  to  move  with  her 
varying  moods,  from  languor  to  vivacity.  Her  hair 
was  a  light,  tawny  grayish-brown,  almost  yellow, 
undulant  and  fine  as  gossamer.  In  the  pure  oval  of  her 
face,  under  level,  golden  brows,  her  eyes  were  now 
questioning,  now  peremptory,  but  usually  smoldering 
with  dreams,  hiding  their  color.  Their  customary 
quiescence,  however,  was  contradicted  by  the  respon- 
siveness of  her  perfectly  drawn  mouth — a  springing 
bow,  like  those  of  Du  Maurier's  most  beautiful  women. 
The  upper  lip,  narrow,  scarlet,  so  short  that  it  seldom 
touched  the  lower,  showed,  beneath  its  lively  curve, 
a  row  of  well-cut  teeth.  With  such  charm  and  delicacy 
of  person  her  small,  flat  ears  and  her  proud,  sensitive 
nostrils  fell  into  lovely  accord.  She  wore  a  veil,  and 
was  dressed  in  a  concord  of  cool  grays,  modishly 
accented  with  black.  Her  movements  were  slow  and 
graceful,  as  if  she  had  never  to  hurry. 

"I  believe  I  have  an  appointment  with  Mr. 
Granthope  for  half-past  eleven,"  she  said  in  a  smooth, 
low,  rather  monotonous  voice. 

"Miss  Smith  ?"  Fancy  asked  briskly,  but  with  a  more 
respectful  manner  than  she  had  shown  Mrst  Page. 

The  lady  blushed  an  unnecessary  pink,  and  blushed 
again  to  find  herself  blushing.  She  admitted  the 
pseudonym  with  a  nod. 

"Take  a  seat,  please,"  Fancy  said.  "Mr.  Granthope 
will  be  ready  for  you  in  a  few  minutes."  Then  her 
eyes  fluttered  over  the  visitor's  costume,  rested  for  a. 


46  THE    HEART    LINE 

second  upon  her  long  black  gloves,  darted  to  her  little, 
patent-leather  shoes,  mounted  to  her  black,  picturesque 
hat,  and  sought  here  and  there,  but  without  success, 
for  jewelry. 

The  lady  took  a  seat  in  silence.  She  repaired  the 
mischief  the  wind  had  done  to  her  hair,  raising  her 
hand  abstractedly,  as  she  looked  about  the  room.  The 
Chinese  masks  did  not  entertain  her  long,  but  the  head 
of  Hypnos  she  appeared  to  recognize  with  interest. 
From  that  to  Fancy,  and  from  Fancy  to  the  row  of 
casts,  her  glance  went,  slowly,  deliberately.  Then  she 
took  a  large  bunch  of  violets  from  her  corsage,  and 
smelled  them  thoughtfully. 

Fancy  began  to  play  with  one  of  her  bracelets, 
clasping  and  unclasping  it.  The  lock  caught  in  a 
bangle-chain,  and,  frowning,  she  bent  to  unfasten  it. 
In  an  instant  the  lady  noticed  her  dilemma,  smiled 
frankly,  and  walked  over  to  the  desk,  drawing  off 
her  long  glove  as  she  did  so. 

"Let  me  do  it  for  you!"  she  said,  and,  taking 
Fancy's  hand,  she  busied  herself  with  the  clasp. 

Fancy  watched  her  amusedly.  The  lady  was  so 
close  that  she  could  enjoy  the  odor  of  the  violets  and  a 
fainter,  more  exquisite  perfume  that  came  from  the 
diaphanous  embroidered  linen  blouse,  whose  cost 
Fancy  might  have  reckoned  in  terms  of  her  week's 
salary.  With  careful,  skilful  movements  the  chain  was 
unfastened,  but  the  lady  still  held  Fancy's  hand  in 
her  own. 

"Oh,  what  beautiful  hands  you  have!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  never  saw  anything  so  lovely  in  my  life ! 
Let  me  see  them  both!  I  wonder  if  you  know  how 
pretty  they  are !" 


THE  PALMIST  AND  FANCY  GRAY   47 

She  looked  questioningly  into  Fancy's  face  and  the 
twinkle  in  Fancy's  eyes  answered  her. 

"Oh,  of  course  you  do !  Mr.  Granthope  must  have 
told  you!  He  has  never  seen  a  prettier  pair,  I'm 
sure!"  She  laid  them  carefully  down,  palms  to  the 
table,  and  smiled  at  Fancy. 

•"I  see  you've  got  the  right  idea  about  hands,"  said 
Fancy  Gray  archly.  "That  second  finger's  pretty 
good ;  did  you  notice  it  ?" 

Both  laughed. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm  rude,"  said  the  lady. 

"You  don't  worry  me  a  bit,  so  long  as  you  can  keep 
it  up.  I'm  only  afraid  you're  going  to  stop!  But  it 
seems  to  me  you've  got  a  pretty  small  pair  of  hands 
yourself!  No  wonder  you  noticed  mine!"  Fancy 
gazed  at  them,  as  if  she  were  surprised  to  find  any 
one  who  could  compete  with  her  own  specialty. 

For  answer,  Miss  Smith,  as  she  had  called  herself, 
drew  her  violets  from  her  coat,  kissed  them  and  handed 
them  to  Fancy.  Fancy  played  up;  kissed  them  too, 
nodded,  as  if  drinking  a  health,  and  tucked  them 
safely  away  on  her  own  breast.  Then  she  treated 
Miss  Smith  to  the  by-play  of  her  delicious  dimples, 
as  she  said,  "Come  in  as  often  as  you  like,  especially 
when  you  have  flowers !" 

"Miss  Smith's"  face  had  become  wonderfully 
alive,  and  she  gazed  at  Fancy  so  frankly  admiring 
that  now  Fancy  had  to  drop  her  own  eyes  in  em- 
barrassment. At  this  moment  Granthope's  voice  was 
heard  as  he  came  out  of  his  studio  with  Gay  P. 
Summer.  A  kind  of  shyness  seemed  to  envelop  the 
visitor  and  she  drew  back,  her  color  mounting,  her 
lids  drooping. 


48  THE   HEART    LINE 

"I'm  all  ready  for  you,  Miss  Smith,"  said  Grant- 
hope,  coming  into  the  room  and  bowing  suavely. 
"Come  in,  please." 

Leaving  Mr.  Summer  in  conversational  dalliance 
with  Fancy  Gray,  the  lady  followed  the  palmist  into 
his  studio.  As  she  walked,  her  graceful,  long-limbed 
tread,  with  its  easy  swing,  seemed  almost  leopard-like 
in  its  unconscious  freedom,  her  head  was  carried  some- 
what forward,  questing,  her  arms  were  slightly  ex- 
tended tentatively  from  her  side,  as  if  she  almost 
expected  to  touch  something  she  could  not  see. 


CHAPTER   II 

TUITION   AND    INTUITION 

It  was  a  large  room,  unfurnished  except  for  a 
couch  in  a  recess  of  the  wall  and  a  table  with  two 
chairs  drawn  up  under  an  electric-light  bulb  which 
hung  from  the  ceiling.  The  walls  were  covered  from 
floor  to  cornice  by  an  arras  of  black  velvet,  falling 
in  full,  vertical  folds,  sequestering  the  apartment  in 
soft  gloom.  Over  the  couch,  this  drapery  was  em- 
broidered with  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  in  a  circle — 
all  else  was  shadowy  and  mysterious. 

The  young  woman  walked  into  the  place  with  her 
leisurely  stride — her  chin  a  little  up-tilted,  her  eyes 
curious.  In  the  center  of  the  room  she  stopped  and 
looked  slowly  and  deliberately  about  her.  The  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth  lifted  slightly  with  amusement, 
evidently  at  the  obvious  picturesqueness  of  the  studio. 

Granthope  watched  her  keenly.  With  his  eyes  and 
ears  full  of  Fancy  Gray's  ardent,  dramatic  youth, 
sparkling  with  the  sophistication  of  the  city,  slangy, 
audacious,  gay,  this  girl  seemed  almost  unreal  in  her 
delicacy  and  exquisite  virginity,  a  creature  of  dreams 
and  faery,  the  personification  of  an  ideal  too  fine  and 
fragile  for  every-day.  Her  face  showed  caste  in  every 
line.  He  was  a  little  afraid  of  her.  Her  bearing 
compelled  not  only  respect,  but,  in  a  way,  reverence — 
a  tribute  he  seldom  had  felt  inclined  to  pay  to  the 
mondaines  who  visited  him. 

His  confidence,  however,  soon  asserted  itself.     He 

49 


50  THE   HEART    LINE 

had  found  that  all  women  were  alike — there  were,  as 
in  chess,  several  openings  to  his  game,  but,  once 
started,  the  strategy  was  simple. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  my  studio?" 

"It's  like  dreams  I've  had,"  she  said.  "I  like  it. 
It's  so  simple." 

"Most  people  think  it  too  somber." 

"It  is  somber;  but  that  purple-black  is  wonderful 
in  the  way  it  takes  the  light.  And  it's  all  so  differ- 
ent!" 

"Yes,  I  flatter  myself  it  is  that.  But  I'm  'different' 
myself." 

"Are  you?"  She  turned  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon 
him  for  the  first  time,  as  if  mentally  appraising  him, 
as  he  stood,  six  feet  of  virility,  handsome,  vivid  and 
nonchalant.  The  color  which  had  risen  to  her  cheeks 
still  remained. 

"You  are,  too,"  he  went  on,  examining  her  as 
deliberately. 

She  smiled  faintly  and  took  a  seat  by  the  table  and 
removed  her  veil.  Her  face  was  now  clearly  il- 
luminated, and  Granthope's  eyes,  traveling  from 
feature  to  feature  in  quest  of  significant  details,  fell 
upon  her  left  cheek.  His  look  was  arrested  at  the 
sight  of  a  brown  velvety  mole,  a  veritable  beauty- 
spot,  heightening  the  color  of  her  skin.  It  was  charm- 
ing, making  her  face  piquant  and  human.  His  hand 
went  to  his  forehead  thoughtfully. 

At  the  sight  of  this  mark  upon  her  cheek,  something 
troubled  him.  His  mind,  always  alert  to  suggestive 
influences,  registered  the  faintest  impression  of  a 
thought  at  first  too  elusive  to  be  called  an  idea.  It 
was  like  the  ultimate,  dying  ripple  from  some  far-off 


TUITION   AND    INTUITION  51 

shock  to  his  consciousness.  The  impact  died  almost 
as  it  reached  him — a  flash,  vaguely  stimulating  to  his 
imagination,  and  then  it  was  gone,  its  mysterious 
message  uncomprehended. 

She  watched  him  a  little  impatiently,  seeming  to 
resent  his  scrutiny.  Noticing  this,  he  summoned  his 
distracted  attention  and  seated  himself  at  the  table. 
But,  from  time  to  time,  now,  his  glance  darted  to 
her  cheek  surreptitiously,  searching  for  the  lost  clue. 
He  had  learned  the  value  of  such  subtle  intuitions  and 
would  not  give  up  his  efforts  to  take  advantage  of 
this  one. 

She  laid  her  bare  hand  upon  the  black  velvet 
cushion  beneath  the  light,  saying,  "I'm  sorry  that 
something  has  disturbed  you."  She  looked  at  him, 
and  then  away. 

"Why,  nothing  has  disturbed  me/'  he  said.  "Why 
should  you  think  so?"  Even  as  he  pulled 'himself  to- 
gether for  this  denial  her  quick  perception  gave  him 
another  cause  for  wonder. 

"I'm  rather  sensitive  to  other  people's  moods  some- 
times. That's  one  reason  why  I  came.  I  didn't 
know  but  you  might  tell  me  something  about  it — how 
far  to  trust  it,  perhaps — though  I  came,  I  confess, 
more  from  curiosity." 

Her  air  was  still  so  detached  that  her  conversational 
approaches  seemed  almost  experimental.  She  spoke 
with  pauses  between  her  phrases,  while  her  eyes,  now 
showing  full  and  clear  gray,  lit  upon  him  only  to  rove 
off,  returned  and  departed  again,  but  never  rapidly,  as 
if  she  sought  for  her  words  here  and  there  in  the 
room,  and  brought  them  calmly  back  to  him.  She 
did  not  shun  a  direct  gaze,  but  her  look  wandered  as 


52  THE  HEART  LINE 

her  thought  wandered  in  its  logical  course,  for  the 
time  seeming  to  forget  his  presence. 

He  took  her  hand  and  felt  of  it,  testing  its  quality 
and  texture,  preparing  himself  for  his  speech.  Her 
hand  was  long  and  slim,  with  scarcely  a  fiber  more 
flesh  upon  the  bones  than  was  necessary  to  cover 
them  admirably.  He  had  no  thought  at  first  except 
to  give  his  ordinary  routine  of  reading,  but  his  study 
of  her  showed  her  to  be  an  exceptional  character. 
She  was  beautiful,  with  the  loveliness  of  an  aristocratic 
and  slightly  bewildering  spiritual  type.  Her  hand  in 
his  was  magnetic,  delicious  of  contact,  subtly  alive 
even  though  not  consciously  responsive.  Other  women 
with  more  obvious  charm  had  left  him  cold.  She, 
aided  by  no  suggestion  of  coquetry  or  complaisance, 
allured  him.  She  awakened  in  him  a  desire  not  wholly 
physical,  although  he  could  not  fail  to  regard  her 
primarily  in  the  sex  relation  that,  so  far,  had  been 
his  chief  interest  in  women.  She,  as  a  woman,  an- 
swered, in  some  secret  way,  him,  as  a  man.  This 
was  his  first  wave  of  feeling.  Her  hint  amused  him, 
true  as  her  intuition  had  been ;  she  had  stumbled  upon 
his  embarrassment,  no  doubt,  and  had  claimed  pre- 
science, a  common  enough  form  of  feminine  conceit. 
There  he  had  a  valuable  suggestion  as  to  the  direction 
of  her  line  of  least  resistance  to  his  wiles. 

Following  upon  this,  as  the  first  feeling  of  her  un- 
reality faded,  upon  contact,  came  the  thought  of  her 
as  a  wealthy  and  credulous  girl,  who  might  minister  to 
his  ambitions.  He  was  without  real  social  aspira- 
tions, except  in  so  far  as  his  success  in  the  fashionable 
world  favored  the  game  he  was  playing.  Years  of 
contact  with  credulity  and  hypocrisy  had  carried  him, 


He  took  her  hand,  testing  its  quality  and  texture       Page  52 


TUITION    AND    INTUITION  53 

mentally,  too  far  to  value  the  lionizing  and  the  hero- 
worship  he  had  tasted  from  his  smarter  clients.  But 
the  patronage  of  such  a  fair  and  finished  creature  as 
this  girl,  especially  if  he  could  establish  a  more 
intimate  relation,  might  secure  the  permanence  of  his 
position  and  his  opportunities.  He  saw  vistas  of 
delight  and  satisfaction  in  such  an  acquaintance.  He 
had  had  his  fill  of  silly  women  whose  favors  were 
paid  for  in  ministrations  to  their  vanity.  Such  trib- 
ute, easy  as  it  was  for  him  with  his  facility,  irked  him. 
Here,  perhaps,  was  one  who  might  hold  his  interest 
by  her  fineness  and  her  mentality,  and  by  the  very 
difficulty  he  might  find  in  impressing  her.  There 
would  be  zest  to  the  pursuit. 

Beneath  these  waves  of  feeling,  however,  and  be- 
neath his  active  intelligence,  there  was  an  inchoate 
disturbance  in  some  subconscious  stratum  of  his  mind. 
He  felt  it  only  as  the  slight  mental  perplexity  the 
mole  upon  her  cheek  had  caused;  he  had  no  time, 
now,  to  pursue  that  incipient  idea.  His  impression 
of  her  as  a  desirable,  pleasurable  quarry  incited  him 
to  devise  the  psychological  method  necessary  for  her 
capture.  He  knew  to  a  hair,  usually,  what  he  could 
do  with  women;  but  now  he  was  forced  to  gain  time 
by  a  preamble  in  the  conventional  patter  of  the 
palmist's  cult. 

Her  hand,  it  appeared,  was  of  a  mixed  type,  neither 
square  nor  conic,  with  long  fingers,  inclined  to  be 
psychic.  He  remarked  the  extraordinary  sensitiveness 
denoted  by  their  cushioned  tips.  Nails,  healthy  and 
oval ;  knuckles  indicating  a  good  sense  of  order  in 
mental  and  physical  life.  She  was,  in  short,  of  strong, 
vigorous  mentality,  well-balanced,  artistic,  generous, 


54  THE    HEART    LINE 

liberal;  but  (he  referred  to  the  Mount  of  Jupiter) 
with  a  tendency  to  be  a  looker-on  rather  than  a 
sharer  in  the  ordinary  social  pleasures  of  life. 
Saturn,  developed  more  toward  the  finger,  gave  her 
a  slightly  melancholy  temperament;  Apollo  showed  a 
great  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  in  nature,  with 
no  little  critical  knowledge  of  art;  Mercury  was  less 
developed,  and  implied  a  lack  of  humor;  Venus 
betrayed  a  well-controlled  but  warm  feeling;  it  was 
soft — she  was,  consequently,  easily  moved.  Her 
thumb  was  wilful  rather  than  logical,  her  fingers  sug- 
gested respectively,  pride,  perception,  self-respect,  mor- 
bidity, love  of  the  beautiful  as  distinguished  from  the 
ornamental,  tact. 

He  had  thrown  himself  into  a  pose  so  habitual  as 
to  become  almost  unconscious,  though  it  was  keyed  to 
the  theatrical  pitch  of  his  picturesque  appearance  and 
surroundings.  The  girl's  expression  showed,  to  his 
alert  eye,  a  slight  disappointment  at  the  convention- 
ality of  his  remarks.  This  spurred  him  to  more 
originality  and  definiteness.  He  tossed  his  hair  back 
with  one  hand  in  a  quick  gesture  and  turned  to 
the  lines  in  her  palm,  examining  them  first  with  a 
magnifying  glass  and  then  tracing  them  with  an 
ivory  stylus.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his,  as  if  she 
were  more  interested  in  the  manner  than  the  matter 
of  his  task. 

"You  are  the  sort  of  person,"  he  said,  "who  is,  in 
a  certain  sense,  egoistic.  That  is,  after  a  criticism  of 
any  one,  you  would  immediately  ask  yourself,  'Would 
I  not  have  done  the  same  thing,  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances?' You're  stupendously  frank — you'd  own 
up  to  anything,  any  faults  you  thought  you  possessed ; 


TUITION   AND    INTUITION  55 

you'd  even  exaggerate  a  jestingly  ignoble  confession 
of  motives  because  you  hate  hypocrisy  so  much  in 
others.  You  are  eminently  fair  and  just,  as  you  are 
generous.  You  have  none  of  the  ordinary  feminine 
arts  of  coquetry.  If  you  liked  a  man  you  would  say 
so  frankly." 

It  was  typical  of  Granthope's  enthusiasm  for  his 
game  that  he  dared  thus  play  it  so  boldly  with  his 
cards  face  up  upon  the  table.  His  visitor  began  to  show 
more  interest;  it  was  evident  that  she  appreciated  the 
ingeniousness  of  his  phrasing.  Her  lip  curved  into  a 
dainty  smile.  Her  eyes  gleamed  slyly,  then  withdrew 
their  fire. 

He  continued:  "You  are  slow  in  action,  but  when 
the  time  comes,  you  can  act  swiftly  without  regard  of 
the  consequences.  You  are  not  prudish.  You  are 
willing  to  look  upon  anything  that  can  be  regarded  as 
evidence  as  to  the  facts  of  life,  even  though  you  may4 
not  care  to  go  into  things  purely  for  the  sake  of  ex- 
perience. You  are  faithful  and  loyal,  but  you  are  not 
of  the  type  that  believes  'the  king  can  do  no  wrong'— 
you  see  your  friends'  faults  and  love  them  in  spite 
of  those  faults,  yet  you  are  absolutely  indifferent  to 
most  persons  who  make  no  special  appeal.  You  are 
lazy,  but  physically,  not  mentally — there  is  no  effort 
you  will  spare  yourself  to  think  things  out  and  get 
to  the  final  solution  of  a  psychological  or  moral  prob- 
lem. You  love  modernness,  complexity  of  living,  the 
wonderful  adjustments  that  money  and  culture  effect, 
but  not  enough  to  endure  the  conventionality  that 
sort  of  life  demands.  You  are  not  particularly  eco- 
nomical— you'd  never  go  all  over  your  town  for  a 
bargain  or  to  'pick  up'  antiques — you  would  prefer 


56  THE    HEART    LINE 

to  go  to  a  good  shop  and  pay  a  fair  price.  You  are 
fond  of  children — not  of  all  children,  however,  only 
bright  and  interesting  ones.  You  are  fond  of  dress 
in  a  sensuous  sort  of  way ;  that  is,  you  like  silk  stock- 
ings, because  they  feel  cool  and  smooth;  silk  skirts, 
because  they  fall  gracefully  and  make  a  pleasant 
swish  against  your  heels ;  furs,  on  account  of  the  color 
and  softness,  but  none  of  these  merely  because  of 
their  richness  or  splendor." 

His  face  was  intent,  almost  scowling,  two  vertical 
lines  persisting  between  his  brows;  his  mouth  was 
fixed.  His  concentration  seemed  to  hold  no  personal 
element;  there  was  nothing  to  resent  in  the  contact  of 
his  fingers  or  the  absorption  of  his  gaze.  Suddenly, 
however,  he  looked  up  and  smiled — he  knew  how  to 
smile,  did  Granthope — and  the  relation  between  them 
became  so  personal  and  intimate  that  she  involuntarily 
drew  away  her  hand.  He  was  instantly  sensitive  to 
this  and  by  his  attitude  reassured  her.  Not,  however, 
before  she  had  blushed  furiously,  in  spite  of  evident 
efforts  to  control  herself. 

His  eyes  glanced  again  at  the  mole  on  her  cheek. 
Then,  as  if  electrified  by  the  sudden  kindling  and 
intensification  of  her  personality,  his  subconscious 
mind  finished  its  work  without  the  aid  of  reason. 
As  a  bubble  might  separate  itself  from  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  and  ascend,  quivering,  to  the  surface,  his 
memory  unloosed  its  secret,  and  it  rose,  to  break  in 
his  mind.  The  mole — he  had  seen  it  before — where? 
Like  a  tiny  explosion  the  answer  came — upon  the 
cheek  of  the  little  girl  who  visited  them  that  day, 
twenty-three  years  ago,  at  Madam  Grant's — the  day 
she  died.  It  reached  him  with  the  certainty  of  truth. 


TUITION  AND   INTUITION  57 

It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  to  doubt  its  verity. 
In  a  flash,  he  saw  what  sensational  use  he  could  make 
of  the  intelligence.  Another  idea  followed  it — an  old 
trick — perhaps  it  would  work  again. 

"Would  you  mind  taking  off  that  ring?"  he  asked. 

She  drew  off  a  simple  gold  band  set  with  three 
turquoises.  He  laid  it  upon  the  cushion,  turning  it 
between  his  fingers  as  he  did  so.  In  a  single  glance  he 
had  read  the  inscription  engraved  inside.  His  ruse 
was  undetected;  her  eyes  had  roved  about  the  room. 
He  turned  to  her  again. 

"You  are  twenty-seven  years  old.  You  have  a  lover, 
or,  rather,  a  man  is  making  love  to  you.  I  do  not 
advise  you  to  marry  him.  You  have  traveled  a  good 
deal  and  will  take  another  journey  within  a  year. 
Something  is  happening  in  connection  with  a  male 
relative  that  worries  you.  It  will  not  be  settled  for 
some  time.  Are  there  any  questions  you  would  like 
to  ask?" 

"I  think  you  have  answered  them  already,"  she 
replied. 

He  leaned  back,  to  shake  his  hands  and  pass  them 
across  his  forehead,  theatrically.  Another  bubble  had 
broken  in  his  consciousness.  "Oliver  Payson!" — the 
name  came  sharply  to  his  inner  ear  like  a  voice  in  a 
telephone.  Oliver  Payson — he  recalled  now  where  he 
had  seen  the  name — upon  the  newspaper  cut  pinned 
to  the  door  of  Madam  Grant's  bedroom.  Like  two 
drops  of  quicksilver  combining,  this  thought  fused 
with  that  suggested  by  the  mole  on  the  girl's  cheek. 
"Clytie  Payson" — this  name  came  to  him,  springing 
unconjured  to  his  mind.  He  determined  to  hazard  a 
test  of  the  inspiration.  He  simulated  the  typical 


58  THE   HEART    LINE 

symptoms  of  obsession,  trembled,  shuddered  and 
writhed  in  the  professional  manner.  Then  he  said : 

"Would  you  like  a  clairvoyant  reading?  I  think  I 
might  get  something  interesting,  for  I  feel  your 
magnetism  very  strongly." 

She  assented  with  an  alacrity  she  had  not  shown 
before.  Her  eyes  opened  wider,  she  threw  off  her 
lassitude,  awakening  to  a  mild  excitement. 

"Let  me  take  *  your  hands  again — both  of  them. 
This  is  something  I  don't  often  do,  but  I'll  see  what  I 
can  get." 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  spoke  monotonously : 

"I  see  a  name— C,  1,  y  — " 

The  girl's  hands  gave  an  involuntary  convulsion. 

"__t,  i,  e.  Is  that  it?  Clytie!  Wait— I  get  the 
name — " 

Beneath  slightly  trembling  lids,  a  fine,  sharp  glance 
shot  out  at  her  and  was  withdrawn  again.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  stolen  something  from  her. 

"Payson!" 

The  girl  withdrew  her  hands  suddenly;  she  drew 
in  her  breath  swiftly,  paling  a  little. 

"That's  my  name,  Clytie  Payson!  It's  wonderful! 
Go  on,  please!" 

She  gave  him  her  gracilent,  dewy  hands  again,  and 
he  thrilled  to  their  provocative  spell.  He  took  advan- 
tage of  her  distraction  to  enjoy  them  lightly.  When 
he  spoke  there  was  no  hesitation  in  his  voice. 

"I  don't  understand  this !  I  don't  know  who  these 
people  are,  or  where  they  are,  and  it  seems  ridiculous 
to  tell  it.  But  there  is  a  fearfully  disordered  room 
with  the  sun  coming  in  through  dirty,  broken  windows. 
The  floor  is  covered  with  rubbish,  there's  no  furniture 


TUITION    AND    INTUITION  59 

but  a  few  old  boxes.     I  see  two  women  and  a  little 
girl.     They  are  in  old-fashioned  costumes." 

Clytie's  face  was  pale,  now,  and  she  watched  him 
breathlessly. 

"One  of  the  women  has  white  hair  and  vivid  black 
eyebrows.  She  talks  wildly  sometimes;  sometimes 
she's  quite  calm.  The  other  woman  is  middle-aged 
and  has  a  soft  voice.  The  little  girl  is  dressed  in 
blue;  she  is  sitting  on  a  box  listening.  The  crazy 
woman  is  kissing  her." 

He  shook  himself,  shuddered  and  opened  his  eyes, 
to  find  Miss  Payson  gazing  upon  him,  her  hand  to 
her  heart. 

"It's  strange !"  she  said. 

"It  sounds  nonsensical,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "but 
that's  just  what  I  get.    Can  you  make  anything  of  it?" 
"It's  all  true !"  said  Clytie.     "That  very  thing  hap- 
pened to  me  when  I  was  a  little  girl — so  long  ago,  that 
I  had  almost  forgotten  it." 
"You  remember  it,  then?" 

"Yes,  it  all  comes  back  to  me — though  I  have 
wondered  vaguely  about  it  often  enough.  It  was  when 
I  was  four  years  old  and  I  went  with  my  mother  to 
call  on  this  strange,  crazy  woman — if  she  were  crazy! 
I  never  knew.  I  never  dared  speak  to  father  about  it. 
He  never  knew  that  we  went,  I  think.  I  had  an 
idea  that  he  wouldn't  have  liked  it,  had  he  known." 
"And  your  mother?" 

"She  died — the  same  year,  I  think.  We  left  San 
Francisco,  father  and  I,  soon  after,  and  we  lived 
abroad  for  several  years.  I  didn't  even  remember  the 
scene  until  long  afterward,  when  something  brought 
it  up.  Then  it  was  like  a  dream  or  a  vision." 


60  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Payson,  I  feel  that  you  have 
very  strong  mediumistic  powers ;  I  can  feel  your  mag- 
netism. 1  think  that  you  might  develop  yourself  so  as 
to  be  able  to  use  your  psychic  force." 

She  took  it  seriously. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do  have  a  certain  amount  of  capacity 
that  way.  I  can  never  depend  upon  it,  though,  but  my 
intuitions  are  very  strong  and  occasionally  rather 
strange 'things  have  happened  to  me." 

It  amused  him  to  see  how  quickly  she  had  fallen 
into  the  trap  he  had  set  for  her.  Experience  had 
taught  him  it  was  a  common  enough  assertion  for 
women  to  make,  and  he  was  cynically  incredulous. 
He  was  a  little  disappointed,  too;  as,  in  his  opinion, 
it  discounted  her  intelligence.  Nevertheless,  he  found 
in  it  a  way  to  manipulate  her. 

"Perhaps  I  might  help  you  to  develop  it,"  he  sug- 
gested, "although  I'm  not  much  of  a  clairvoyant 
myself;  I  claim  only  to  be  a  scientific  palmist." 

"I  think  you  are  wonderful,"  Clyde  asserted,  giving 
him  a  glance  of  frank  admiration.  "This  test  alone 
would  prove  it.  You  see,  having  some  slight  power 
myself,  I'm  more  ready  to  believe  that  others  have  it." 

He  waived  her  compliment  with  apparent  modesty. 

"Women  are  more  apt  to  be  gifted  that  way — it  isn't 
often  I  attempt  a  psychic  reading.  What  is  written 
in  the  palm  I  can  read;  as  a  physician  diagnoses  a 
case  from  symptoms  in  the  pulse  and  tongue  and 
temperature,  so  I  read  a  person's  character  from 
what  I  see  in  the  hand.  I  have  been  particularly  in- 
terested in  yours,  Miss  Payson,  and  perhaps  I  have 
been  able  to  give  you  more  than  usual.  I  hope  I  may 
have  the  opportunity  of  seeing  you  again;  I'm  quite 


TUITION   AND   INTUITION  61 

sure  I  can  help  you,  or  put  you  in  the  way  of  assist- 
ance." 

She  arose  and  slowly  drew  on  her  gloves,  her  mind 
full  of  the  revelation.  He  watched  every  motion  with 
delight.  Her  brief  mood  of  irradiation  had  given 
place  to  her  customary  languor,  and  her  fragile  love- 
liness, emphasizing  the  opposite  to  every  one  of  his 
virile,  ardent  traits,  allured  him  with  the  appeal  of 
one  extreme  to  another.  Most  of  all,  her  mouth, 
wayward  with  its  ravishing  smile,  enchanted  him. 
It  was  controlled  by  no  coquetry,  he  knew,  and  it 
moved  him  the  more  for  that  reason.  Yet  she  seemed 
loath  to  go  and  moved  slowly  about  the  room.  She 
stopped  to  point  with  a  sweeping  gesture  at  one  side 
of  the  velvet-hung  wall. 

"It's  rather  too  bad  to  hide  the  windows,  isn't  it?" 

He  smiled  at  her  divination,  doubtful  of  its  origin. 

"You  have  a  very  good  sense  of  direction,  haven't 
you?" 

She  appeared  to  notice  his  incredulity,  but  not  to 
resent  it. 

"Indeed,  I  have  very  little,"  she  said;  then,  giving 
him  her  hand  with  a  quick  impulse  of  cordiality,  she 
smiled,  nodded  and  turned  to  the  anteroom. 

He  glanced  at  the  table,  saw  her  ring,  and  made  a 
motion  toward  it.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  it 
might  be  used  as  an  excuse  for  seeing  her  again  and 
he  followed  her  out. 

In  the  reception-room,  Fancy  was  yawning;  seeing 
them,  she  brought  her  hand  quickly  to  her  mouth  and 
raised  her  eyebrows  at  Granthope.  He  made  no  sign 
in  reply.  Clytie  walked  up  to  her  impulsively  and 
held  out  her  hand. 


62  THE    HEART   LINE 

"I  do  hope  I'll  see  you  again,  sometime,"  she  said. 

Fancy  laughed.  "I  do,  too.  You're  the  only  one 
who's  ever  really  appreciated  me.  You  make  me 
almost  wish  I  was  a  lady."  By  her  tone,  there  was 
some  old  wound  that  bled. 

"You're  that,  and  better,  I'm  sure,"  Clyde  an- 
swered softly ;  "you're  yourself !" 

She  turned  to  leave.  Granthope,  who  had  watched 
the  two  women,  amused,  opened  the  door  for  her,  re- 
ceived her  long,  steady  glance,  her  quiet,  low  "Good 
morning,"  and  bowed  her  out. 

As  soon  as  she  had  fairly  left,  he  turned  quickly  to 
Fancy.  "Where's  Philip?" 

"In  the  back  room,  I  suppose."  Fancy  looked 
surprised. 

"Go  and  get  him,  please ;  tell  him  to  find  out  where 
this  girl  lives,  and  all  he  can  about  her." 

"Say,  Frank — "  Fancy  began,  rising. 

"Hurry,  please!  I  don't  want  him  to-  miss  her. 
She's  a  good  thing!" 

"She's  too  good,  Frank,  that's  just  it!" 

"That's  why  I  want  her.  I  don't  catch  one  like  that 
every  day.  Why,  she's  worth  all  the  rest  put  to- 
gether." He  looked  impatiently  at  her. 

Fancy  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  sailed  airily  out 
of  the  room. 

Granthope  stood  for  some  time,  his  hands  thrust  into 
the  pockets  of  his  velvet  coat,  gazing  abstractedly  at 
the  red  wall  of  his  reception-room.  Then  he  took  up 
the  telephone  and  called  for  Madam  Spoil's  number. 

He  made  himself  known  and  then  said,  "I'll  be 
round  to-night  before  your  seance.  I  want  to  talk 
something:  over." 


CHAPTER   III 
THE  SPIDER'S  NEST 

The  architecture  of  San  Francisco  was,  in  early 
days,  simple  and  unpretentious,  befitting  the  modest 
aspirations  of  a  trading  and  mining  town.  Builders 
accepted  their  constructive  limitations  and  did  their 
honest  best.  False  fronts,  indeed,  there  were,  making 
one-story  houses  appear  to  be  two  stories  high,  but 
redwood  made  no  attempts  in  those  days  to  mas- 
querade as  marble  or  granite. 

During  the  sixties,  a  few  French  architects  im- 
ported a  taste  for  classic  art,  and  for  a  time,  within 
demure  limits,  their  exotic  taste  prevailed.  The  sim- 
ple, flat,  front  wall  of  houses,  now  grown  to  three 
honest  stories  high,  they  embellished  with  dentil  cor- 
nice, egg-and-dart  moldings  and  chaste  consoles ;  they 
added  to  the  second  story  a  little  Greek  portico  with 
Corinthian  columns  accurately  designed,  led  up  to  by  a 
flight  of  wooden  steps;  the  fagade  was  broken  by  a 
single  bay-window,  ornamented  with  conventional 
severity.  Block  after  block  of  such  dwelling-houses 
were  built.  They  had  a  sort  of  restful  regularity,  they 
broke  no  artistic  hearts. 

In  later  days,  when  San  Francisco  had  begun  to  take 
its  place  in  the  world,  a  greater  degree  of  sophistica- 
tion ensued.  Capitals  of  columns  became  more  fanci- 
ful, ornament  more  grotesquely  original,  till  ambitious 
turners  and  wood-carvers  gave  full  play  to  their 
morbific  imagination.  Then  was  the  day  of  scrolls 

63 


64  THE    HEART    LINE 

and  finials,  bosses,  rosettes,  brackets,  grille-work 
and  comic  balusters.  Conical  towers  became  the  rage, 
wild  windows,  odd  porches  and  decorations  nailed  on, 
regardless  of  design,  made  San  Francisco's  nightmare 
architecture  the  jest  of  tourists.  Lastly,  after  an 
interregnum  of  Queen  Anne  vagaries,  came  the 
Renaissance  and  the  Age  of  Stone,  heralded  by  con- 
crete imitations  and  plaster  walls  of  bogus  granite. 

Madam  Spoil's  house  was  of  that  commonplace, 
anemically  classic  style  which,  after  all,  was  then  the 
least  offensive  type  of  residence.  It  was  painted  ap- 
propriately in  lead  color — for  the  house,  with  the  rest 
of  the  block,  seemed  to  have  been  cast  in  a  mold — a 
tone  which  did  its  best  to  make  Eddy  Street  prosaic. 
It  had  been  long  abandoned  by  fashion  and  was  now 
hardly  on  speaking  terms  with  respectability.  It 
occupied  a  place  in  a  row  of  boarding-houses,  cheap 
millinery  establishments  and  unpretentious  domiciles. 

There  was  a  dreary  little  unkempt  yard  in  front, 
with  a  passage  leading  to  an  entrance  under  the  front 
steps ;  above,  the  sign  "Madam  Spoil,  Clairvoyant  and 
Medium,"  was  displayed  on  ground  glass,  and  below, 
hanging  on  a  nail  against  the  wall,  was  a  transparency. 
When  the  lamp  was  lighted  inside  this,  one  read  the 
words:  "Circle  To-night  Admittance  ten  cents." 

This  Thursday  the  lamp  was  lighted.  It  was  half- 
past  seven  o'clock. 

Devotees  had  begun  to  arrive,  and,  entering  by  the 
lower  door,  they  paid  their  dimes  to  Mr.  Spoil,  who 
stood  beside  the  little  table  at  the  entrance,  left  their 
"tests" — envelopes,  flowers,  jewelry  or  what  not — and 
passed  into  the  audience-room. 

This  had  once  been  a  dining-room  and  its  walls 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  65 

were  covered  with  a  figured  paper,  above  which  was  a 
bright  red  border  decorated  with  Japanese  fans  and 
parasols.  A  few  gaudy  paper  lanterns  hung  from 
the  ceiling,  and  here  and  there  were  hung  framed 
mottoes:  "There  Is  No  Death"— "We  Shall  Meet 
Again" — "There  Is  a  Land  that  is  Fairer  than 
Day."  This  room  was  filled  with  chairs  set  in  rows, 
and  would  hold  some  forty  or  fifty  persons.  It  was 
separated  by  an  arch  from  a  smaller  room  beyond, 
where,  upon  a  platform,  stood  a  table  with  an  open 
Bible,  an  organ,  two  chairs  and  a  folding  screen. 

Only  the  front  seats  were  at  present  occupied,  these 
by  habitues  of  the  place,  all  firm  believers,  a  pic- 
turesque group  showing  at  a  glance  the  stigmata  of 
eccentricity  or  mental  aberration.  For  the  most  part 
they  were  women  in  black ;  they  bowed  to  one  another 
as  they  sat  down,  then  waited  in  stolid  patience  for 
the  seance  to  open.  The  others  were  pale,  blue-eyed 
men  with  drooping  mustaches  and  carefully  parted 
hair,  and  a  whiskered,  bald-headed  old  gentleman  or 
two  who  sat  in  silence.  The  room  was  dimly  illu- 
minated by  side  lights. 

Farther  down  the  hallway,  opposite  the  foot  of  a 
flight  of  stairs  leading  upward  to  her  living-rooms, 
was  Madam  Spoil's  "study,"  and  here  she  was,  this 
evening,  preparing  for  business. 

This  room  was  small  and  crowded  with  furniture. 
The  marble  mantel  held  an  assortment  of  bisque  bric- 
a-brac,  sea-shells,  paper  knives  and  cheap  curiosities. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  photographs,  a  placque 
or  two,  fans  and  picture  cards.  A  huge  folding 
bed,  foolishly  imitating  a  mirrored  sideboard,  occu- 
pied one  corner  of  the  room.  A  couch  covered  with 


66  THE   HEART   LINE 

fancy  cushions  and  tidies  ran  beside  it.  A  table, 
heavily  draped,  a  three-legged  tea-stand,  an  easel  with 
a  satin  sash  bearing  the  portrait,  photographically  en- 
larged  in  crayon,  of  a  bold,  smirking,  overdressed 
little  girl,  a  ragged  trunk  and  several  plush-covered 
chairs  were  huddled,  higgledy-piggledy,  along  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

Upon  the  couch  Madam  Spoil  sat,  spraying  en- 
velopes with  alcohol  from  an  atomizer  on  a  small 
bamboo  stand  before  her. 

She  was  an  enormous  woman  of  masculine  type, 
with  short,  briskly  curling,  iron-gray  hair  and  a  triple 
chin.  Heavy  eyebrows,  heavy  lips,  heavy  ears  and 
cheeks  had  Madam  Spoil,  but  her  forehead  was  unlined 
with  wrinkles ;  her  expression  was  serene,  and,  when 
she  smiled,  engaging  and  conciliating.  She  was 
dressed  in  black  satin  with  wingf-like  sleeves,  the  front 
of  her  waist  being  covered  with  a  triangular  decoration 
of  bead-work. 

Watching  her  with  roving,  black  eyes  was  Pro- 
fessor Vixley,  smoking  a  vile  cigar.  His  face  was 
sallow,  of  a  predatory  mold  with  a  pointed,  mangy 
beard,  and  sharp,  yellow  teeth.  He  wore  a  soft, 
striped  flannel  shirt  with  a  flowing  pink  tie.  From 
the  sleeves  of  his  shiny,  cutaway  coat,  faded  to  a  pur- 
plish hue,  his  thin,  tanned,  muscular  hands  showed 
like  the  claws  of  a  vulture. 

"You  seem  to  be  doin'  a  pretty  good  business,"  he 
remarked,  dropping  his  ashes  carelessly  upon  the  floor. 

"So-so,"  Madam  Spoil  answered.  "If  things  go 
well  we  hope  to  get  a  new  hall  up  on  Post  Street,  but 
there  ain't  nothing  in  tests.  Straight  clairvoyance  is 
the  future  of  this  business.  Of  course,  we  have  to 


THE   SPIDER'S   NEST  67 

give  cheap  circles  to  draw  the  crowd,  but  it's  a  lot 
of  bother  and  expense  and  it  does  tire  me  all  out. 
Then  there's  always  the  trouble  from  the  newspapers 
likely  to  come  up." 

"Pshaw!  I  wouldn't  mind  gettin'  into  the  news- 
papers occasionally,  it's  good  advertisin'.  The  more 
you're  exposed  the'  better  you  get  along,  I  believe." 

"  'Lay  low  and  set  on  your  eggs'  is  my  motto,"  said 
the  Madam.  "I  don't  like  too  much  talk.  I  prefer  to 
work  in  the  dark — there's  more  money  in  it  in  the 
long  run.  I  don't  care  if  I  only  have  a  few  cus- 
tomers; if  they're  good  and  easy  I  can  make  all  I 
want." 

"What  do  you  bother  with  sealed  messages  for, 
Gert?"  Professor  Vixley  asked. 

"Oh,  I  got  to  fix  a  lot  of  skeptics  to-night.  I  can 
usually  open  the  ballots  right  on  the  table  easy 
enough  behind  the  flowers,  but  I  want  to  read  a  few 
sealed  messages  besides.  It  may  help  along  with 
Payson,  too."  She  took  up  an  envelope  numbered 
"275."  It  was  saturated  with  alcohol.  She  held  it 
to  the  light,  and  squinting  at  the  transparent  paper, 
she  read :  "  'When  is  Susie  coming  home  ?'  Now, 
ain't  that  a  fool  question?  I'll  take  a  rise  out  of  her, 
see  if  I  don't!  That's  that  woman  who  got  into 
trouble  in  that  poisoning  case." 

"Say,  the  alcohol  trick's  a  pretty  good  stunt  when 
you  get  a  chance  to  use  it !  But  I  don't  have  time  for 
it  in  my  business." 

"Yes,  it's  easy  enough  if  you  use  good,  grain 
alcohol,  but  I  wish  I  had  an  egg-tester.  They  save 
a  lot  of  time,  and  you  can  read  through  four  or 
five  thicknesses  of  paper  with  'em.  Spoil,  he  has  plenty 


68  THE   HEART   LINE 

of  chance  to  hold  out  the  ballots  and  bring  'em  in  to 
me;  his  coming  and  going  ain't  noticed,  because  he 
has  to  fetch  'em  up  to  the  table,  anyway.  By  the  time 
I  go  on,  all  the  smell's  faded  out.  If  it  ain't,  my  hand- 
kerchief is  so  full  of  perfumery  that  you  can't  notice 
anything  else.  I'm  going  to  fit  up  my  table  with  one 
o'  them  glass  plates  with  an  electric  flash-light  under- 
neath that  I  can  turn  on  with  a  switch.  You  can  read 
right  through  the  envelope  then.  But  I  don't  often 
consent  to  tests  like  that.  It  deteriorates  your  powers. 
And  my  regular  customers  are  usually  contented  to 
send  their  ballots  up  open  and  glad  of  the  chance  to 
get  an  answer.  They  don't  want  to  give  the  spirits 
no  trouble !  Lord,  I  wish  I  had  the  power  I  had  when 
I  begun."  She  smiled  pleasantly  at  her  companion. 

"I  see  old  Mrs.  Purinton  on  the  front  row  as  I 
come  in,"  Vixley  observed,  shifting  his  cigar  labially 
from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other. 

"Say,  there's  a  grafter  for  fair!"  she  exclaimed. 
"She's  been  coming  here  to  the  publics  for  two  years 
and  never  once  has  she  gave  me  a  private  setting. 
That's  what  I  call  close.  She's  as  near  as  matches! 
And  always  the  same  old  song — little  Willie's  croup  or 
when's  Henry  going  to  write,  and  woozly  rubbish 
like  that.  I  got  a  good  mind  to  hand  her  a  dig. 
I  could  make  a  laughing-stock  out  of  her,  and  scare 
her  away  easy.  Folks  do  like  a  laugh  at  a  public 
seance;  you  know  that,  Professor." 

"Sure!  It  don't  do  no  harm  as  long  as  you  hit 
the  right  one." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  out  for  nothing  but  paper-sports  and 
grafters.  I  know  a  good  thing  when  I  see  it.  I 
hope  there'll  be  something  doing  worth  while  in  this 


THE   SPIDER'S    NEST  69 

Payson  business.  He  may  show  up  to-night.  Lulu 
claims  she  conned  him  good." 

"I  hope  I'll  have  a  slice  off  him,"  said  Professor 
Vixley,  his  beady,  black  eyes  shining.  "We  got  to  get 
up  a  new  game  for  him  before  we  pass  him  down  the 
line." 

"Oh,  if  anybody  can  I  guess  we  can ;  there's  more'n 
one  way  to  kill  a  cat,  besides  a-kissing  of  it  to  death." 

"Yes,  smotherin'  it  in  hot  air,  for  instance !"  Vixley 
grinned. 

"They's  one  thing  I  wish,"  said  Madam  Spoil,  "and 
that  is  that  we  had  a  regular  blue-book  like  they  have 
in  the  East.  Why,  they  tell  me  there's  six  thousand 
names  printed  for  Boston  alone.  If  we  had  some  way 
of  getting  a  lead  with  this  Payson  it  would  be  lots 
easier.  But  I  expect  the  San  Francisco  mediums  will 
get  better  organized  some  day  and  cooperate  more 
shipshape." 

Here  Mr.  Spoil  entered,  a  tall,  thin,  bony,  wild-eyed 
individual  with  a  rolling  pompadour  of  red  hair,  his 
face  spattered  with  freckles.  He  walked  on  tiptoe,  as 
if  at  a  funeral,  bowed  to  the  Professor,  coughed  into 
his  hand,  and  took  up  the  letters  Madam  Spoil  had 
been  investigating,  putting  down  some  new  ones. 

"Oh,  here's  that 'S.  F.  B.'  that  Ringa  told  me  about," 
she  said,  glancing  at  an  envelope.  "Is  Ringa  come 
in  yet?" 

"I  ain't  seen  him ;  but  it's  early,"  said  Spoil.  "He'll 
show  up  all  right.  I'll  send  him  right  in." 

"Is  Mr.  Perry  in  front?" 

"You  bet !"  Spoil  was  still  tiptoeing  about  the  room 
on  some  mysterious  errand.  "Perry  ain't  likely  to 
lose  a  chance  to  make  a  dollar,  not  him !" 


70  THE    HEART    LINE 

"He's  a  good  one!"  Madam  Spoil  smiled  at  the 
Professor.  "I  don't  hardly  know  what  I'd  do  without 
him.  I  can  always  depend  upon  him  to  make  good. 
He  ain't  too  willing,  and  sometimes,  I  declare,  he 
almost  fools  me,  even.  I've  known  him  to  stand  up 
and  denounce  me  something  fierce,  especially  when 
there  was  newspaper  men  in  the  audience,  and  then 
just  gradually  calm  down  and  admit  everything  I 
wanted  him  to.  He  looks  the  part,  too.  Why,  I 
sent  him  round  to  Mrs.  Stepson's  circle  one  night, 
when  she  first  come  to  town,  and  she  was  fooled  good. 
I've  seen  him  cry  at  a  materializing  seance  so  hard 
it  would  almost  break  your  heart." 

"Does  he  play  spook?" 

"No,  he's  best  in  the  audience.  He's  a  good  capper, 
but  I  don't  believe  he  could  play  spook — besides,  he's 
getting  too  fleshy." 

"Who  else  have  you  got  regular?"  asked  Professor 
Vixley. 

"Only  two  or  three.  I  don't  need  so  many  touts  as 
most.  I  pride  myself  on  doing  my  own  work  without 
much  help.  Of  course,  you  got  to  give  a  name  some- 
times when  a  fishing  test  won't  work,  and  a  friend  in 
the  audience  helps.  Miss  French,  she's  pretty  good, 
but  she's  tricky.  I'm  afraid  of  her.  I  was  gave  away 
once  to  the  Chronicle  and  I  lost  a  whole  lot  of  business. 
Men  are  safer.  Harry  Debert  is  straight  enough,  but 
he's  stupid.  He's  the  too-willing  kind,  and  you  don't 
have  a  chance  to  get  any  effect. 

"Say,  Spoil,"  she  added  to  her  husband,  "be  sure 
and  don't  take  no  combs  nor  gloves !  I  ain't  going  to 
do  no  diagnosing  in  public — not  for  ten  cents.  Them 
that  want  it  can  pay  for  it  and  take  a  private  setting." 


'•'1  told  her  they  was  trouble  coming  to  her"       Page 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  71 

"They're  mostly  flowers  to-night,"  said  Spoil  as  he 
crept  out  of  the  room. 

"Lord,  I  do  hate  a  flower  test!"  she  groaned.  "It's 
too  hard  work.  Of  course,  they're  apt  to  bring  roses 
if  their  name's  Rose,  or  lilies  and  daisies  the  same  way, 
but  you  can't  never  be  sure,  and  you  have  to  fish. 
Lockets  is  what  I  like,  lockets  and  ballots." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Ringa  entered.  He  was  a 
bleached,  tow-headed  youth,  long  and  lanky,  with 
mild  gray  eyes  and  a  stubbly,  straw-colored  mustache. 
Two  front  teeth  were  missing  from  his  upper  jaw. 
His  clothes  seemed  to  have  shrunk  and  tightened  upon 
his  frame.  He  bowed  respectfully  to  Madam  Spoil 
and  Professor  Vixley,  who  represented  to  him  the 
top  of  the  profession. 

"Did  you  get  that  'S.  F.  B.'  letter,  all  right?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,  what  about  it?" 

"She's  easy!" 

Vixley  grinned.  "If  she's  easy  for  you  she  must 
be  a  cinch  for  us!" 

Ringa  persevered.  "Well,  I  got  the  dope,  anyway. 
She's  a  Mrs.  Brindon  and  she's  worried  about  her 
husband — he's  gone  dotty  on  some  fluzie  up  North. 
I  read  her  hand  last  week.  I  told  her  they  was 
trouble  coming  to  her  along  of  a  dark  woman — she's 
one  of  these  beer-haired  blondes — what  I  call  a  Wtirz- 
burger  blonde — then  I  showed  it  to  her  in  the  heart- 
streak.  'Go  ahead  and  tell  me  how  it  will  come  out,' 
she  says.  I  says:  'There's  a  peculiar  condition  in 
your  hand  that  I  ain't  quite  on  to,'  I  says.  She  says: 
'Why,  can't  you  read  it  ?'  Says  I :  'Madam,  if  I  could 
read  that  well,  I  wouldn't  be  doing  palms  for  no  two 


72  THE   HEART   LINE 

bits  a  shot ;  I'd  be  where  Granthope  is,  with  a  fly-away 
studio  and  crowding  it  at  five  plunks,  per.'  Then  I 
says:  'Say,  I  hear  Madam  Spoil  has  great  gifts  in 
predicting  at  all  affairs  of  the  heart.  I  ain't  never 
been  to  any  of  her  circles,  but  why  don't  you  shoot 
around  next  Thursday  night  and  try  her  out?' 
'What'll  I  do?'  she  says.  Then  I  told  her  to  write 
on  a  paper,  'Does  he  care  more  for  Mae  Phillips  than 
he  does  for  me,  and  how  will  it  come  out?'  She  done 
it  and  sealed  it  up  into  an  envelope  I  give  her." 

"Good  work !"  said  Madam  Spoil.  "I'll  give  you  a 
rake-off  if  I  land  her.  I've  got  her  ballot  right  here. 
I  won't  need  to  open  it." 

"Ain't  that  job  worth  a  dollar  to  you  as  it  stands?" 
Ringa  asked  nervously.  "I'll  call  it  square  and  take 
my  chances  on  the  percentage." 

"All  right.  It's  a  good  sporting  chance!  Only  I 
wish  it  was  a  man.  Women  are  too  close."  Madam 
Spoil  opened  her  purse  and  paid  him. 

As  Ringa  left,  Vixley  asked:  "By  the  way,  how 
about  this  fellow  Payson?  Do  you  think  Lulu  roped 
him?" 

"I  guess  so.  Lulu's  done  pretty  well  lately,  and 
she's  brought  me  considerable  business.  She  ought 
to  be  here  by  this  time." 

"I  should  think  she'd  be  able  to  handle  him  alone." 

"Don't  you  go  and  tell  her  so!  The  thing  for  her 
to  do  is  to  get  a  manager,  but  I  don't  intend  to  queer 
my  own  game." 

"What  line  is  she  workin'  now?  She's  failed  at 
about  everything  ever  since  she  begun  with  cards." 

"Oh,  she's  doing  the  'Egyptian  egg'  reading. 
Wouldn't  that  freeze  you?  Lord,  that  was  out  of 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  73 

date  twenty  years  go;  but  everything  goes  in  San 
Francisco." 

"Say,  ain't  this  town  the  penultimate  limit !"  Vixley 
ejaculated,  grinning.  "Why,  the  dopes  will  stand  in 
line  all  night  for  a  chance  to  be  trimmed,  and  send 
their  money  by  express,  prepaid,  if  you  let  'em. 
Gert,  sometimes  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  keepin' 
'em  waitin'  so  long!  Talk  about  takin'  a  gumdrop 
away  from  a  sick  baby;  that's  hard  labor  to  what 
we  did  for  Bennett.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  how  do 
these  damn  fools  ever  get  all  the  money  we  take  away 
from  'em?  It  don't  look  like  they  had  sense  enough 
to  cash  a  check." 

"If  I  had  one  or  two  more  decoys  as  good  as  Ringa 
and  Lulu  Ellis,  I'd  be  fixed  all  right.  I  could  stake 
out  all  the  dopes  in  town.  Say,  Granthope  could  cut 
up  a  lot  of  easy  cash  if  he'd  agree  to  stand  in.  I  tried 
to  tap  him  about  this  here  Payson,  and  he  wouldn't 
give  me  a  tip." 

"Perhaps  he  didn't  know  anything.  You  can't 
loosen  up  when  you're  wide  open,  can  you?" 

"He  generally  knows  all  there  is  to  know.  The 
trouble  is  he's  getting  too  high-toned.  Since  he  fitted 
up  his  new  studio  and  butted  into  society  you  can't 
get  near  him  with  nothing  like  a  business  proposition. 
I  believe  he  thinks  he's  too  good  for  this  place  and 
will  go  East.  He's  a  nice  boy,  though.  I  ain't  got 
nothing  against  him,  only  I  wish  he'd  help  us  out. 
Hello,  here's  Lulu.  Good  evening,  Lulu,  how's  Egyp- 
tian eggs  to-day?" 

Lulu  Ellis  was  a  dumpy,  roly-poly,  soft-eyed,  soft- 
haired,  pink-cheeked  young  woman,  as  innocent  ap- 
pearing a  person  as  ever  lived  on  her  wits.  Not  that 


74  THE   HEART   LINE 

she  had  many  of  them,  but  a  limited  sagacity  is 
enough  to  dupe  victims  as  willing  to  be  cajoled  as  those 
who  appeal  to  the  Egyptian  egg  for  a  sign  of  the 
future.  Lulu's  large,  brown  eyes  were  enough  to 
distract  one's  attention  from  her  rule-of-thumb  meth- 
ods. Her  fat  little  hand  was  soft  and  white,  her 
plump  little  body  full  of  extravagant  curves. 

"Say,  Mr.  Payson  has  come!"  she  exclaimed  im- 
mediately, with  considerable  excitement.  "He's  on 
the  third  row  at  the  far  end." 

Madam  Spoil  became  alert.    "Did  you  see  his  test?" 

"No,  he  was  here  when  I  come/'  Lulu  replied. 

"Go  (out  and  get  Spoil."  Madam  Spoil  spoke 
sharply.  "We've  got  to  fix  this  thing  up  right  now." 

Lulu  returned  to  say :  "There's  such  a  crowd  coming 
in  he  can't  leave,  but  he  says  it  was  a  gold  watch  with 
a  seal  fob." 

"All  right,  so  far,"  said  the  Madam.  "Now,  Lulu, 
are  you  sure  of  what  you  told  me  ?" 

Lulu's  reply  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Francis  Granthope,  in  opera  hat  and  Inverness  cape, 
making  a  vivid  contrast  to  the  disreputable  aspect  of 
Professor  Vixley.  He  greeted  the  three  conspirators 
with  his  customary  elegance. 

"I'm  sorry  I  had  nothing  about  Payson  when  you 
rang  me  up,  Madam  Spoil,  but  just  afterward  his 
daughter  came  in  for  a  reading.  Queer,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"God,  that's  a  stroke  of  luck !"  said  Vixley  eagerly. 
"I  say,  Frank,  you  can  work  her  while  we  handle  the 
old  man,  and  we'll  clean  up  a  fortune.  They  say 
he's  a  millionaire."  Vixley's  little  eyes  gleamed. 

"Let's  hear  what  Lulu  has  to  say,  first,"  said  Madam 
Spoil. 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  75 

"Why,  I  didn't  get  much,"  Lulu  confessed.  "He 
said  he  dropped  in  by  accident  as  he  was  passing  by, 
to  see  what  Egyptian  egg  astrology  was.  I  got  his 
name  off  of  some  letters  he  had  in  his  overcoat  pocket. 
I  made  him  hang  it  on  the  hall  hat-rack.  I  did  all 
I  could  for  him " 

"Did  he  get  gay  with  you?"  Professor  Vixley  inter- 
rupted. He  had  been  overtly  enjoying  Lulu's  plump 
charms  with  his  rapacious  eyes. 

Granthope  smiled;  Lulu  Ellis  colored  slightly. 

"No,  he  didn't!  I  don't  do  none  of  that  kind  of 
work !" 

"The  more  fool  you !"  Madam  Spoil  retorted.  "He's 
an  old  man,  ain't  he?" 

"Sixty,"  said  Vixley,  "I  looked  him  up." 

"Then  he  ought  to  be  easy  as  chewing  gum,"  said 
Madam  Spoil. 

Granthope  lighted  a  cigarette  and  listened  with  a 
mildly  cynical  expression. 

"He  ain't  that  kind,  though,"  Lulu  insisted.  "I 
ain't  altogether  a  fool,  after  all.  Why,  he  don't  even 
go  to  church !" 

Her  three  auditors  laughed  aloud,  the  Professor 
raucously,  Madam  Spoil  with  a  bubbling  chuckle, 
Granthope  with  scarcely  more  than  an  audible  smile. 

"That  settles  it,  then.  You're  coming  on,  Lulu ! 
What  else  do  you  know?"  said  Madam  Spoil. 

"Well,  he  has  a  daughter " 

"Yes,  Granthope  knows  all  about  that,"  from  the 
Madam. 

"Her  name  is  Clytie,"  said  Granthope.  "Twenty- 
seven." 

"Is  she  a  looker?"  asked  Vixley. 


76  THE    HEART   LINE 

Granthope  turned  to  him  and  gave  him  a  patronizing 
glance.  "You  wouldn't  think  so,  Professor.  She's 
hardly  your  style.  But  she's  good  enough  for  me!" 
He  languidly  flipped  the  ash  from  his  cigarette  and 
took  his  pose  again. 

Lulu  went  on:  "I  think  he  had  a  love  affair  before 
he  was  married,  but  I  couldn't  quite  get  it.  I  didn't 
dare  to  fish  very  much.  And  that's  about  all  I  got." 

"That's  plenty,  Lulu.  You  can  go  now.  Here's  a 
dollar  for  you  and  much  obliged  for  passing  him  up." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Lulu.  "I'm  afraid  it  ain't 
worth  that  much.  He  gave  me  a  dollar  himself, 
though  I  don't  charge  but  four  bits,  usually." 

"Lord,  what  a  fool!"  said  Vixley,  watching  her 
go  out.  "That  girl  won't  ever  get  nowhere,  she's  too 
innocent.  She  knows  no  more  about  real  life  than  a 
boiled  egg." 

"She's  all  right  for  me,  though,"  Madam  Spoil 
replied.  "That's  just  the  kind  I  need  in  my  business. 
She  fools  'em  every  time.  They  ain't  nothing  like  a 
good  blusher  for  a  stool-pigeon,  you  take  my  v/ord 
for  it.  Lulu's  all  right  in  her  place."  She  turned  to 
wash  her  hands  at  a  bowl  in  the  corner. 

"Well,"  said  Vixley,  crossing  his  legs,  "are  you 
coming  in  with  us,  Frank?" 

"It  looks  pretty  good  to  me,  so  far.  But  it  depends. 
What  have  you  got  about  Payson,  anyway?"  Grant- 
hope's  tone  was  languid. 

Madam  Spoil  winked  at  Vixley,  as  she  wiped  her 
hands  behind  the  palmist's  back. 

"Why,"  Vixley  replied,  "Payson's  in  wool  and  is 
director  of  a  bank,  besides.  He's  a  square-head  with 
a  high  forehead,  and  them  are  easy.  Gertie,  here, 


THE   SPIDER'S    NEST  77 

can  get  him  into  a  private  sittin',  and  when  she  does, 
you  leave  him  to  her — she'll  find  a  way  all  right.  She 
don't  do  no  lumpy  work,  Gertie  don't,  you  know  that, 
all  right!  When  she  passes  him  along  to  me,  I'll 
manage  him  like  the  way  we  worked  Bennett  with 
the  real  estate.  I'd  like  another  chance  as  good  as 
him." 

"You  just  wait,"  said  Madam  Spoil.  "I  got  a 
hunch  that  this  Payson  is  going  to  be  pretty  good  pie ; 
and  we  got  a  good  strong  combination,  Frank,  if  you 
want  to  do  your  share." 

"It's  a  pity  Spoil  ain't  got  some  of  Gertie's  gump- 
tion," said  Vixley,  smiling  with  approval  at  his  partner. 

"Don't  you  make  no  mistake  about  Spoil — he's  done 
some  good  work  on  Payson  already."  The  Madam 
was  adjusting  her  waist  before  the  glass  and  co- 
quetting with  her  hair.  "The  trouble  with  you,  Vix- 
ley, is  that  you  ain't  got  no  executive  ability — I'm 
going  to  organize  this  game  myself.  I  can  see  a  way 
to  use  Spoil  and  Ringa,  and  Flora,  too.  We  want  to 
go  into  this  thing  big.  Payson's  a  keener  bird  than 
Bennett  was,  but  they's  more  in  him." 

"So  Spoil  has  begun,  has  he?"  Granthope  asked. 

"Yes.  He  located  the  Paysons  over  on  North 
Beach." 

"I  know  that  much  already.  The  mother's  dead. 
Mr.  and  Miss  Payson  have  traveled  abroad.  What 
else  do  you  know  about  her?" 

"Why,  it  seems  she's  the  sole  heir.  Good  news 
for  you,  eh?  High  society,  too — Flower  Mission, 
Kitchen  Garden,  Friday  Cotillions,  Burlingame,  every- 
thing. She  could  help  you,  Frank,  if  you  got  on  the 
right  side  of  her." 


78  THE   HEART   LINE 

Here  Mr.  Spoil  tiptoed  in,  bowed  to  Granthope, 
and  said: 

"Eight  o'clock,  Gertie." 

Madam  Spoil  arose  cumbrously,  took  a  last  peep  in 
the  mirror  of  the  folding  bed  and  turned  into  the  hall, 
saying,  "You  take  my  advice,  Frank.  We  depend 
upon  you.  See  what  you  can  do  with  the  girl."  She 
paused  to  bend  a  keen  glance  upon  him.  "What  did 
you  do  with  her,  anyway?" 

"Why,  I  did  happen  on  something/'  he  answered. 
"Do  you  remember  Madam  Grant,  who  used  to  live 
down  on  Fifth  Street,  twenty-odd  years  ago?" 

Madam  Spoil  came  back  into  the  room  eagerly. 

"The  crazy  woman  who  lived  so  queer  and  yet 
had  lots  of  money?  Yes!  She  did  clairvoyance, 
didn't  she?  I  remember.  She  had  a  kid  with  her, 
too.  Let's  see — he  ran  away  with  the  money,  didn't  he  ? 
And  nobody  ever  knew  what  become  of  him.  What 
about  her?" 

There  was  a  duel  of  astute  glances  between  them. 
Granthope  had  his  own  reasons  for  not  wanting  to  say 
too  much.  He  guarded  his  secret  carefully,  as  he 
had  guarded  it  from  her  for  years. 

"Miss  Payson  used  to  go  down  to  see  Madam  Grant 
with  her  mother,  when  she  was  a  little  girl." 

"No!  did  she,  though?  With  her  mother?  That's 
queer!  Hold  on,  Vixley.  What  did  Lulu  say  about 
a  love  affair  before  Payson  was  married?  Do  you 
get  that?  Here's  his  wife  visiting  Madam  Grant; 
you  remember  her,  don't  you?  There's  something  in 
that.  I  believe  we  got  a  good  starter  already." 

Spoil  appeared  again,  anxiously  beckoning,  and  she 
went  with  him  down  the  hall. 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  79 

Vixley  took  up  the  scent.  "Say,  Frank,"  he  asked, 
"how  did  you  happen  to  get  on  to  that,  anyway? 
That  was  slick  work." 

Granthope  turned  to  him  and  replied  patronizingly, 
"Oh,  I  ought  to  know  something  about  women  by  this 
time.  I  got  her  to  talking." 

Vixley  frowned,  intent  in  thought,  stroking  his 
scant,  pointed  beard  and  biting  his  mustache ;  then 
he  slapped  his  knee  with  his  claw-like  hand.  "Say, 
you  got  a  grand  chance  there,"  he  exclaimed.  "See 
here,  you  can  get  in  with  the  swells  and  be  in  a 
position  to  help  out  lots.  It's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime, 
and  we'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"How?"  Granthope  inquired  contemptuously. 

"By  a  fair  exchange  of  information.  You  put  us 
wise,  and  we'll  put  you  wise.  I'll  trust  you  to  find 
ways  of  using  what  help  we  give  you."  He  cackled. 

"Yes — you  can  trust  me.  I  think  I  might  have  some 
fun  out  of  it.  I  don't  mind  helping  you  out,  but 
all  I  need  myself  is  a  little  imagination,  some  common- 
sense  and  a  frock  coat." 

Vixley  looked  at  him  admiringly.  "I  wish't  I  had 
your  chance,  Frank;  that's  what  I  do.  Say,  you  just 
light  'em  and  throw  'em  away,  don't  you !  I  s'pose 
if  I  had  your  looks  I  could  do  it  myself." 

Granthope  looked  him  over  calmly.  "There's  no 
knowing  what  a  bath  and  a  manicure  and  a  suit  of 
clothes  would  do  for  you,  Professor." 

"You  can't  make  brains  out  o'  soap,"  retorted  the 
medium. 

"And  you  can't  make  money  out  of  dirt." 

"We'll  see  who  has  the  money  six  months  from 
now." 


8o  THE   HEART   LINE 

"It's  a  fair  enough  bargain.  I  take  the  girl,  you 
take  the  money.  I'm  satisfied."  Granthope  arose  and 
yawned.  "Oh,"  he  added,  "did  you  know  Payson 
had  a  partner  named  Riley?  He  was  drowned  in 
seventy-seven." 

"That's  funny.  Queer  how  things  come  our  way ! 
Mrs.  Riley  is  here  in  the  front  room  with  a  test.  She 
was  tried  for  the  murder  of  one  of  her  husbands. 
Gert's  goin'  to  shoot  her  up  with  it  to-night.  You 
better  go  in  and  see  the  fun.  She'll  give  it  to  her 
good." 

"I  think  I  will,"  said  the  palmist. 

He  left  Vixley  plunged  in  thought,  and  walked  out. 

Turning  into  the  audience-room  he  sat  down  on  a 
chair  in  the  rear.  The  place  was  almost  filled.  His 
eyes  scanned  the  assembly  carefully,  roving  from  one 
spectator  to  another.  On  a  side  seat  near  him,  a  party 
of  four,  young  girls  and  men,  sat  giggling  and  chew- 
ing gum.  The  rest  of  the  company  showed  a  placid 
vacancy  of  expression  or  lukewarm  expectancy. 

Madam  Spoil  at  the  organ  and  her  husband  with 
his  violin,  had,  meanwhile,  been  playing  a  dreary 
piece  of  music,  "to  induce  the  proper  conditions,"  as 
she  had  announced  from  the  platform.  They  stopped, 
retarding  a  minor  chord,  and  the  medium  went  to  the 
table  and  began  to  handle  the  tests,  rearranging  them, 
putting  some  aside,  bringing  others  forward,  in  an 
abstracted  manner.  Then,  looking  up  with  a  self- 
satisfied  smile,  she  spoke: 

"I  want  to  say  something  to  the  new-comers  and 
skeptics  here  to-night  in  explanation  of  these  tests. 
Them  who  have  thoroughly  investigated  the  subject 
and  are  familiar  with  every  phase  of  mediumship, 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  81 

understand,  of  course,  that  these  objects  are  placed 
here  merely  to  attract  magnetism  to  the  sitter  and  in- 
duce the  proper  conditions,  so  that  your  spirit  friends 
will  be  able  to  communicate  with  you.  This  phase  of 
mediumship  is  called  psychometry,  but  if  I'd  stop  to 
explain  just  what  that  means,  I  wouldn't  have  time  to 
give  any  readings.  Now,  it  won't  be  possible  to  get 
any  messages  unless  you  come  here  in  the  proper 
mood  to  receive  them.  You  must  send  out  your  best 
thought  and  do  all  you  can  to  assist,  or  else  my 
guides  won't  be  able  to  establish  communication  on  the 
spirit  plane.  If  you  merely  come  here  only  to  laugh 
and  to  make  a  scoff  of  the  proceedings,  I'll  have  to 
ask  you  to  leave  before  I  begin,  for  they's  many  here 
to-night  who  are  honestly  in  search  of  the  truth, 
seeking  to  communicate  with  the  dear,  loved  ones  be- 
yond on  the  other  side." 

She  passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  sighed,  and 
fingered  her  chin  nervously.  She  poked  the  articles 
on  the  table  again. 

"As  I  come  on  to  this  platform,  I  see  an  old  man 
over  there,  in  that  direction,  what  you  might  call  a 
middle-aged  man,  perhaps,  of  a  medium  height,  and 
whiskers,  like.  I  feel  a  condition  of  going  on  a 
journey,  you  might  say,  somewhere  east  of  here, 
though  maybe  not  very  far,  and  I  get  the  name  John. 
The  light  goes  over  in  your  direction,  lady,  that  one 
with  the  red  hat.  Yes,  you.  Would  that  be  your 
father,  possibly?" 

The  lady,  straightening  herself  upon  being  thus 
addressed,  said  timidly,  "I  think  perhaps  you  mean  my 
uncle.  His  name  was  John." 

"Maybe  it  is  an  uncle,  though  I  get  the  influence 


82  THE   HEART   LINE 

of  a  father  very  strong,  too.  Has  your  father  passed 
out?" 

The  lady  in  the  red  hat  nodded. 

"Then  it  is  your  father,  do  you  see  ?  Yes,  I  get  an 
uncle,  too,  who  wishes  to  communicate,  only  his  in- 
fluence ain't  strong  enough.  That  shows  it  ain't  mind 
reading,  as  the  newspaper  folks  say,  don't  it?"  She 
smiled,  as  if  she  had  made  a  point,  and  the  audience 
appeared  to  be  impressed. 

"About  this  journey,  now :  maybe  you  ain't  had  no 
idea  of  traveling,  but  John  says  you  will.  I  don't 
think  it's  liable  to  be  very  far,  though.  It'll  be  before 
the  last  of  September  or  the  first  of  October  and  John 
says  it'll  be  successful.  Do  you  understand  what  I 
mean  ?" 

The  lady,  frightened  at  the  terrible  import  of  this 
question,  did  not  speak. 

"Did  you  send  up  an  article?" 

"It's  that  purse  with  the  chain." 

Madam  Spoil  fingered  it  and  weighed  it  reflectively. 

"I  get  a  condition  of  what  you  might  call  inharmony. 
Seems  to  me  like  in  your  home  something  is  worrying 
you  and  you  ain't  satisfied,  you  understand,  with 
the  way  things  are  going  and  sometimes  you  feel  as  if, 
well,  you  just  couldn't  stand  it!"  Her  smile,  now, 
bathed  her  dupe  with  sympathy. 

The  lady  nodded  vigorously,  with  tightly  shut  lips. 

"You  kind  of  wonder  if  it  does  any  good  for  you 
to  go  to  all  the  trouble  you  do  to  sacrifice  yourself  and 
try  to  do  your  duty,  when  it  ain't  what  you  might  call 
appreciated.  And  you're  worried  about  money,  too. 
Ain't  that  so?" 

She  received  a  ready  assent.     The  woman's  eyes 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  83 

were  fixed  upon  her.  Every  one  in  the  room  watched 
the  stripping  naked  of  a  soul. 

"Well,  John  says  that  your  father  and  him  are  help- 
ing you  all  they  can  on  the  spirit  plane,  and  he  thinks 
conditions  will  be  more  favorable  and  will  take  a 
turn  for  the  better  by  the  first  of  the  year." 

A  question  fluttered  on  the  woman's  lips,  but  before 
it  had  time  to  escape,  Madam  Spoil  suddenly  turned 
in  the  other  direction. 

"While  I  was  talking  to  that  lady,"  she  said,  "I  felt 
an  influence  leading  me  to  that  corner  over  there  by 
the  clock,  and  I  get  the  initials  'S.  F.  B.'  Is  there 
anybody  of  that  name  over  there?" 

A  flashily  dressed  woman,  with  tinted  yellow  hair 
and  rhinestone  ear-rings,  raised  her  hand. 

"Those  are  my  initials,"  she  announced. 

Madam  Spoil  grew  impressive.  "Your  name  is 
Brindon,  ain't  it?" 

The  woman  gasped  out  a  "Yes." 

"Did  I  ever  see  you  before?" 

"No,"  said  the  blonde,  "not  to  my  knowledge,  you 
didn't" 

Madam  Spoil  made  a  comprehensive  gesture  with 
both  hands,  calling  attention  to  the  miracle.  "You 
sent  up  a  sealed  ballot,  didn't  you  ?" 

The  woman  nodded.  She  was  obviously  excited, 
looking  as  if  she  feared  her  skeleton  was  to  be 
dragged  forth  from  its  closet;  as  indeed  it  was. 

Madam  Spoil  took  up  the  envelope  with  her  delicate 
thumb  and  forefinger  and  displayed  it  to  the  audience. 

"You  see,  it's  still  sealed,"  she  announced,  then, 
shutting  her  eyes,  she  continued:  "My  guides  tell 
me  that  he's  what  you  might  call  infatuated,  but  he'll 


84  THE   HEART   LINE 

come  back  to  you  and  say  he's  sorry.  Do  you  under- 
stand that?" 

The  woman  was  now  painfully  embarrassed  and 
shrank  into  her  seat.  The  medium,  however,  did  not 
spare  her.  It  was  too  good  a  chance  for  a  dramatic 
sensation.  She  tore  the  envelope  open  and  read  its 
contents  boldly:  "Does  he  care  more  for  Mae  Phillips 
than  he  does  for  me  ?"  It  was  a  psychological  moment. 
The  old  women  stared  at  Mrs.  Brindon  with  morbid 
delight.  There  was  a  little  buzzing  of  whispers 
through  the  room.  Then  the  audience  prepared  itself 
for  the  next  sensation. 

The  medium  picked  up  another  envelope.  "This  is 
marked  '275,' "  she  said,  then  she  clutched  her  throat. 
"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I'm  strangling!  They's  somebody 
here  who  passed  out  very  sudden,  like  they  was 
poisoned.  It's  terrible.  I  can't  answer  the  question 
the  party  has  written  because  there's  an  evil  influence 
here,  a  wicked  woman.  She  had  three  husbands  and 
two  of  'em  died  suspicious.  Her  name  is  Riley. 
Would  that  be  you?"  She  pointed  forcefully  at  a 
dried-up,  old  woman  in  a  shawl,  with  bleared  eyes  and 
a  veined  nose. 

There  was  no  response. 

"Was  this  question  something  about  your  daughter  ?" 
Madam  Spoil  asked. 

The  woman  coughed  and  bowed,  shrinking  into 
herself. 

"I  guess  you  better  go  somewhere  else  for  your 
readings,"  Madam  Spoil  declared  cruelly.  "Your  aura 
don't  seem  to  me  to  be  very  harmonious.  I  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  to-night,"  she  went  on,  pass- 
ing her  hand  across  her  forehead  in  apparent  distress. 


THE    SPIDER'S    NEST  85 

"The  conditions  around  me  are  something  horrid." 
Her  voice  rose.  "There's  somebody  in  this  very  room 
here  who  has  committed  murder.  I  can't  do  a  thing 
until  I  get  that  off  my  mind.  My  guides  tell  me  who 
it  is,  and  that  they'll  be  satisfied  if  he'll  acknowledge 
it  and  say  he's  sorry.  Otherwise,  this  seance  can't 
go  on." 

She  stopped  and  glared  about  the  hall.  By  this 
time  she  had  worked  her  audience  up  to  an  intense 
excitement.  Every  one  looked  at  his  neighbor,  won- 
dering what  was  to  come,  but  no  one  offered  to 
confess  to  a  crime.  Madam  Spoil  raged  up  and  down 
the  platform  in  a  frenzy.  Then  she  stopped  like  an 
elephant  at  bay. 

"I  know  who  this  person  is.  It's  a  man,  and  if  he 
don't  rise  and  acknowledge  it,  I  shall  point  him  out !" 

No  one  stirred.  On  the  fourth  seat,  a  clean-shaven 
man  of  thirty-five,  with  sharp,  aquiline  features  and 
wide-spread  ears,  sat,  transfixed  with  horror,  his 
two  hands  clenched.  It  was  Mr.  Perry,  the  cleverest 
actor  in  the  medium's  support. 

She  advanced  toward  him  as  if  drawn  by  a  secret 
power,  stared  into  his  eyes,  and  putting  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  said: 

"Thou  art  the  man !" 

Mr.  Perry  wriggled  out  of  her  grasp.  "See  here," 
he  cried,  "you  mind  your  own  business,  will  you? 
You're  a  fake !  You  got  no  right  to  make  a  fool  of 
me."  His  voice  trembled,  his  face  was  a  convincing 
mask  of  guilt  arraigned. 

The  medium  shook  a  warning  finger  at  him.  "You 
either  acknowledge  what  I  say  is  true,  or  you  leave 
the  hall!  I  can't  go  on  with  you  here." 


86  THE    HEART    LINE 

Mr.  Spoil  came  in  to  stand  beside  her  valiantly; 
spectators  stood  up  to  watch  the  drama.  Mr.  Perry's 
eyes  were  wild,  his  face  distorted;  suddenly  he  arose 
and  rushed  out  of  the  room.  Madam  Spoil  snapped 
her  fingers  two  or  three  times,  shook  herself  and 
went  back  to  the  platform.  The  murmurs  died  down 
and  the  seance  was  resumed. 

Madam  Spoil  waited  a  while  in  silence,  then  she 
picked  up  a  gold  watch  with  a  seal  fob  from  the  table. 
"I'm  glad  to  feel  a  more  peaceful  influence,"  she  said. 
"I'm  directed  toward  this  watch.  I  don't  know  who 
brought  it  up,  for  I  was  out  of  the  room  at  the  time, 
but  I  get  the  name  "Oliver."1  She  looked  up  ex- 
pectantly. 

A  gentleman  arose  from  an  end  seat  in  the  third 
row.  He  had  a  high  domed  head,  partly  bald,  and  a 
gray  chin-beard  with  a  shaven  upper  lip ;  under  shaggy 
overhanging  eyebrows,  cold  gray  eyes  looked  through 
a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles.  His  air  was  benev- 
olently judicial  and  bespoke  culture  and  ease.  He 
had,  moreover,  a  well-marked  presence,  as  of  one 
used  to  being  considered  influential  and  prominent. 
A  row  of  false  teeth  glittered  when  he  opened  his 
mouth. 

"That's  my  name,"  he  acknowledged  in  a  deep, 
fluent  voice  that  was  heard  all  over  the  room,  "and 
that  is  my  watch." 

Madam  Spoil  fixed  him  in  the  eye.  "I'd  like  to 
know  if  I  can't  get  your  other  name.  My  guides  are 
very  strong  to-night."  After  a  few  moments  of 
self-absorption,  she  smiled  sweetly  upon  him.  "I 
think  I  can  get  it  clairaudiently.  Would  it  be  Pear- 
son?" 


THE   SPIDER'S   NEST  87 

"No.  but  that's  pretty  near  it,  though." 

"it  sounds  like  Pearson  to  me,  Pearson.  Payson, 
oh,  yes,  it's  Payson,  isn't  it?" 

"That's  right,"  he  said,  and  sat  down. 

"Did  I  ever  see  you  before?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,  Madam." 

She  looked  triumphantly  at  her  audience  and  smiled. 

"If  they's  any  skeptics  here  to-night,  I  hope  they'll 
go  away  satisfied."  A  number  of  old  ladies  nodded 
emphatically.  "Of  course,  newspaper  men  never  come 
on  a  night  like  this,  when  my  guides  are  strong. 
Funny  what  you  see  when  you  ain't  got  a  gun,  ain't 
it?  The  next  time  I'm  half  sick  and  tired  out,  they'll 
be  plenty  of  them  here  to  say  I'm  a  fake,  like  our 
friend  here  who  left  so  sudden,  white  as  a  sheet. 
Now,  when  I  was  directed  to  that  watch,  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  spirit  standing  beside  this  gentleman,"  she 
pointed  at  him  benevolently,  "influencing  me  to  take 
it  up.  It's  a  woman,  and  she  must  have  been  about 
thirty  when  she  passed  out,  and  remarkably  handsome, 
too.  She  was  sort  of  fair-complected,  between  dark 
and  light.  I  get  a  feeling  here  in  my  throat  and  down 
here,"  she  touched  her  breast,  lightly,  curving  her  arm 
gracefully  inward,  "as  if  she  went  out  sudden,  like, 
with  heart  disease.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

Mr.  Payson  had  bent  forward  now.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  "I  think  I  do.  Has  she  any  message  for  me  ?" 

"Yes,  she  has;  but — well,  you  see,  it  ain't  one  I'd 
exactly  care  to  give  in  public,  and  I  don't  think  you'd 
want  me  to,  either.  If  you  come  up  after  the 
seance  is  over,  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  it  for  you.  Or 
you  might  do  still  better  to  have  a  private  setting  and 
then  I'll  have  time  to  tell  you  more.  She  brings 


88  THE   HEART   LINE 

me  a  condition  of  what  you  might  call  worry  or 
anxiety,  as  if  you  had  something  on  your  mind." 

She  turned  to  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and,  taking  them 
up,  smelled  them  thoughtfully,  for  a  while.  Mr.  Pay- 
son  settled  back  in  his  seat. 

As  the  medium  commenced  again,  Granthope  arose 
with  his  faint,  cynical  smile  and  walked  quietly  out. 
He  found  Mr.  Spoil  at  the  table  by  the  door. 

"Well,  I  guess  he's  on  the  hook."  The  palmist  but- 
toned his  cape  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Trust  Gertie  for  that,"  said  Spoil;  "she'll  land  him 
all  right,  see  if  she  don't.  Good  night!" 

Granthope  turned  up  his  collar  and  walked  out  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  PAYSONS 

Mr.  Oliver  Payson  lived  on  a  half-deserted  street 
on  the  northerly  slope  of  Russian  Hill,  in  a  quarter 
of  the  town  which,  at  one  time,  promised  to  become  a 
favored,  if  not  an  aristocratic  residential  district. 
But  the  whim  of  fashion  had  fancied  in  succession 
Stockton  Street,  Rincon  Hill,  Van  Ness  Avenue,  Nob 
Hill,  and  had  now  settled  upon  the  Western  Addition 
and  the  Presidio  Heights.  The  old  North  Beach,  with 
its  wonderful  water  and  mountain  view,  nearer  the 
harbor  and  nearer  the  business  part  of  the  city,  had 
long  been  neglected.  The  few  old  families,  who  in 
early  days  settled  on  this  site,  still  remained;  and, 
with  the  opening  of  new  cable-car  lines,  found  them- 
selves, not  only  within  a  short  distance  of  down-town, 
but  at  the  same  time  almost  as  isolated  as  if  they 
had  dwelt  in  the  country,  for  this  part  of  the  city  is 
upon  none  of  the  main  routes — few  frequent  the 
locality  except  upon  some  special  errand. 

One  side  of  the  street  was  still  unbuilt  upon;  on 
the  southern  side  stood  three  houses,  each  upon  its 
fifty-vara  lot,  comfortably  filling  the  short  block.  That 
occupied  by  the  Paysons  was  an  old  frame  structure 
of  two  stories,  without  attempt  at  ornamentation,  ex- 
cept for  its  quaint,  Tudoresque  pointed  windows  and 
a  machicolated  wooden  battlement  round  the  flat  roof. 
It  stood  on  a  gentle  slope,  surrounded  by  an  old- 
fashioned  garden,  which  was  hedged  in,  on  either  side, 


90  THE   HEART   LINE 

by  rows  of  cypress  and  eucalyptus  trees,  protecting  it 
from  the  trade  winds,  which  here  blow  unhampered 
across  the  water. 

In  front,  a  scene  ever-changing  in  color  as  the  at- 
mospheric conditions  changed,  was  ranged  in  a  semi- 
circular pageant,  the  wild  panorama  of  San  Francisco 
Bay,  from  Point  Bonita  and  Golden  Gate  in  the  west, 
past  the  Marin  County  shore  with  Sausalito  twinkling, 
under  the  long,  beautiful  profile  of  Mount  Tamalpais, 
past  Belvedere  with  its  white  villas,  Alcatraz  and 
Goat  Island  floating  in  the  harbor,  to  the  foot-hills 
behind  Oakland  and  Berkeley,  where,  in  the  east, 
Mount  Diablo's  pointed  peak  shimmered  in  the  blue 
distance. 

In  the  second  story  of  this  house  Clytie  had  a 
bookbinding  room,  where  she  spent  most  of  her  spare 
time.  It  was  large,  bare,  sunny,  impregnated  with 
the  odor  of  leather  skins,  clean  and  orderly.  A 
sewing  frame  and  a  heavy  press  stood  behind  her 
bench  and  upon  a  table  were  neatly  arranged  the  pages 
of  a  book  upon  which  she  was  working.  Carefully 
placed  in  workmanlike  precision  were  her  knives, 
shears,  glue  pot  and  gas  heater  and  a  case  of  stamping 
irons  in  pigeonholes. 

She  was,  this  afternoon,  in  a  brown  gingham  pina- 
fore, with  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  seated  before  the 
table,  her  sensitive  hands  moving  deftly  at  the  most 
delicate  operation  connected  with  her  craft.  Upon  a 
square  of  heavy  plate  glass,  she  laid  a  torn,  ragged 
page,  and,  from  several  old  fly  leaves,  selected  one  that 
matched  it  in  color.  She  cut  a  piece  of  paper  slightly 
larger  than  the  missing  portion,  skived  the  edges,  and 
pasted  it  over  the  hole  or  along  the  frayed  margin. 


THE    PAYSONS  91 

The  work  was  absorbing  and  exacting  to  her  eyes; 
to  rest  them,  she  went,  from  time  to  time,  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out  upon  the  bay. 

The  water  was  gray-green  streaked  with  a  deeper 
blue.  In  the  "north  harbor"  two  barks  lay  at  anchor 
in  the  stream  and  ferry-boats  plied  the  fairway.  In 
and  out  of  the  Gate  there  passed,  at  intervals,  tugs 
with  sailing  ships  bound  out  with  lumber  or  in  with 
nitrates,  steamers  to  coast  ports,  or  liners  from  over- 
seas, rusty,  weather-beaten  tramps,  strings  of  heavy- 
going  barges,  lusty  little  tugs,  lumber  schooners 
wallowing  through  the  tide  rip,  Italian  fishing  smacks, 
lateen-rigged  with  russet  sails,  saucy  launches,  and, 
at  last,  the  magnificent  bulk  of  a  white  battleship  slid- 
ing imperiously  into  the  roadstead  along  the  water- 
front. 

At  four  o'clock  Clytie's  mind  seemed  to  wander  from 
her  occupation,  and  now,  when  she  ceased  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  her  abstracted  gaze  was  evidently 
not  directed  at  what  she  saw.  Her  mental  vision, 
rather,  seemed  alert.  Her  slender  golden  eyebrows  drew 
closer  together,  her  narrow,  sharp  nostrils  dilated; 
her  lips,  half  open,  inhaled  deep,  unconscious  breaths. 
The  pupils  of  her  eyes  contracted  like  a  cat's  in  the 
light.  Then  she  shook  herself,  passed  her  hand  over 
her  forehead,  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  resumed 
her  work. 

A  little  later  this  performance  was  repeated;  this 
time,  after  her  momentary  preoccupation,  she  rose 
more  briskly,  put  her  tools  away,  laid  her  book  care- 
fully aside  and  took  off  her  pinafore.  After  washing 
her  hands  she  went  into  her  own  room  on  the  same 
floor.  She  went  down-stairs  ten  minutes  after,  in  a 


92  THE    HEART    LINE 

fresh  frock,  her  hair  nicely  arranged,  radiating  a  faint 
perfume  of  violet  water.  She  opened  the  front  door 
and  walked  slowly  down  the  path  to  the  gate  where 
the  wall,  though  but  waist-high  on  the  garden  side, 
stood  high  above  the  sidewalk.  Here  she  waited, 
touching  the  balustrade  delicately  with  her  out- 
stretched fingers,  as  if  playing  upon  a  piano.  The 
breeze  loosened  the  severity  of  her  coiffure,  which 
relaxed  into  slight  touches  of  curling  frivolity  about 
her  ears  and  neck.  Her  pink  frock  billowed  out  into 
flowing,  statuesque  folds  as  she  stood,  like  a  figurehead, 
gazing  off  at  the  mountains.  Her  mouth  was  set  into 
a  shape  not  quite  a  smile,  a  queer,  tremulously  subtle 
expression  of  suspense.  She  kept  her  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Hyde  Street. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  man  turned  the  corner 
and  walked  briskly  toward  her.  He  looked  up  at  the 
first  house  on  the  block,  searching  for  the  number; 
then,  as  his  eyes  traveled  along  to  the  next  gate,  he 
caught  sight  of  her.  Instantly  his  soft  felt  hat  swung 
off  with  a  quick  flourish  and  he  sent  her  a  pleased 
smile. 

"Here  I  am,  Mr.  Granthope !"  Clytie  called  down  to 
him,  and  on  the  instant  her  face  was  suffused  with 
pink.  She  had  evidently  expected  him,  but  now  she 
appeared  as  agitated  as  if  his  coming  had  surprised 
her. 

He  ran  up  the  flight  of  wooden  steps,  his  eyes  hold- 
ing hers  all  the  way.  His  dark,  handsome  face 
glowed;  he  abounded  with  life  and  spirit  as  he  stood 
before  her,  hand  outstretched.  In  the  other,  he  held  a 
small  leather-bound  book. 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Payson !"  he  said  heartily. 


THE   PAYSONS  93 

He  shook  hands  eagerly,  his  touch,  even  in  that  con- 
ventional greeting,  consciously  managed;  the  grasp 
was  sensitive  and  he  delayed  its  withdrawal  a  suggest- 
ive second,  his  dark  eyes  already  at  work  upon  hers. 
"How  lucky  I  was  to  catch  you  out  here!"  he  added, 
as  he  dropped  her  hand. 

"Oh,  I've  been  expecting  you  for  some  time,"  Clytie 
replied,  retreating  imperceptibly,  as  from  an  emotional 
attack,  and  turning  away  her  eyes. 

He  noticed  her  susceptibility,  and  modified  his  man- 
ner slightly. 

"Why!  You  couldn't  possibly  have  known  I  was 
coming?" 

"But  I  did !  Does  that  surprise  you  ?  I  told  you 
I  had  intuitions,  you  know.  You  came  to  bring  my 
ring,  didn't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  You  really  have  second-sight, 
then?"  He  looked  at  her  as  one  might  look  at  a  fairy, 
in  amusement  mingled  with  admiration. 

"Yes — haven't  you?"    She  put  it  to  him  soberly. 

"Haven't  I  already  proved  it?"  His  eyes,  well- 
schooled,  kept  to  hers  boldly,  seeking  for  the  first 
sign  of  her  incredulity.  Into  his  manner  he  had  tried 
to  infuse  a  temperamental  sympathy,  establishing  a 
personal  relation. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  gazing  at  him 
disconcertingly;  then  her  eyes  wandered,  as  she 
remarked:  "You  certainly  proved  something,  I  don't 
quite  know  what." 

He  laughed  it  off,  saying:  "Well,  I've  proved  at 
least  that  I  wanted  to  see  you  again,  and  made  the  most 
of  this  excuse." 

"Yes,  I'm  glad  I  forgot  the  ring.     I'm  really  very 


94  THE   HEART   LINE 

glad  to  see  you,  too — I  half  hoped  I  might.  Won't  you 
come  up  to  my  summer-house?  It's  not  so  windy 
there,  and  we  can  talk  better." 

He  accepted,  pleased  at  the  invitation  and  the  im- 
plied promise  it  held,  and  followed  her  up  the  path 
and  off  toward  the  line  of  trees.  The  place  was  now 
visited  by  belated  sunshine  which  compensated  for  the 
sharp  afternoon  breeze.  In  the'  shelter  of  the  cypress 
hedge  the  air  was  warm  and  fragrant.  Here  was  an 
arbor  built  of  withe  crockery  crates  overgrown  with 
climbing  nasturtiums;  it  contained  a  seat  looking 
eastward,  towards  Telegraph  Hill.  In  front  stood  a 
sun-dial  mounted  on  a  terra  cotta  column,  beneath 
a  clump  of  small  Lombardy  poplars. 

As  she  seated  herself  she  pointed  to  it.  "Did  you 
know  that  this  is  a  sort  of  cemetery?  That  sun-dial 
is  really  a  gravestone.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I 
buried  my  doll  underneath  it.  She  had  broken  open, 
letting  the  sawdust  all  out,  and  I  thought  she  must  be 
dead.  It  may  be  there  now,  for  all  I  know;  I  never 
dug  her  up." 

He  looked  over  at  the  shaft,  saying,  "A  very  pretty 
piece  of  symbolism.  I  suppose  I  have  buried  illusions, 
myself,  somewhere." 

She  thought  it  over  for  a  moment,  and  apparently 
was  pleased.  "I'd  like  to  dig  some  of  them  up,"  she 
said  at  last,  turning  to  him,  with  the  slow  movement 
of  her  head  that  was  characteristic  of  her. 

"Haven't  you  enough  left?" 

She  started  to  reply,  but  evidently  decided  not  to 
say  what  she  had  intended,  and  let  it  drop  there,  her 
thought  passing  in  a  puzzling  smile  as  she  looked  away 
again 


THE    PAYSONS  95 

He  had  laid  his  book  beside  him  upon  the  bench, 
and,  when  her  eyes  came  back,  she  took  it  up  and 
looked  at  it.  A  glance  inside  showed  it  to  be  an  old 
edition  of  Montaigne.  She  smiled,  her  eyes  drifted 
to  him  with  a  hint  of  approval  for  his  taste,  then  she 
turned  her  interest  to  the  binding.  As  she  fingered 
the  leather,  touching  the  tooled  surfaces  sensitively, 
her  curiosity  did  not  escape  his  sharp  eyes,  watching 
for  anything  that  should  be  revelatory. 

She  explained :  "I  have  a  technical  interest  in  bind- 
ings. I  do  some  of  that  work  myself.  It's  curious  that 
I  happened  to  be  at  work  to-day  on  an  old  copy  of 
Montaigne.  I'm  rebinding  it  for  my  father's  birth- 
day. You'd  never  think  my  hands  were  of  any  prac- 
tical use,  would  you?" 

He  laughed.  "Inconsistencies  like  that  are  what 
baffles  one  most,  especially  when  one  knows  that  most 
characters  are  inconsistent.  But  we  professionals  have 
to  go  by  general  rules.  I  should  expect  you  to  be  an 
exception  to  all  of  them,  though." 

He  watched  her  surreptitiously,  noting  her  diminish- 
ing color,  the  evasion  of  her  glance,  and  the  air  of 
self-consciousness  with  which  she  spoke,  as  they  talked 
for  a  while  of  obvious  things — the  weather,  the  view, 
and  the  picturesque,  old-fashioned  garden.  She  had 
taken  the  ring  and  had  put  it  upon  her  finger,  keeping 
her  eyes  on  its  turquoises.  Her  whole  demeanor  min- 
istered to  his  vanity,  already  pleased  by  her  frank  wel- 
come. He  was  used  enough  to  women's  interest  and 
admiration  for  him  to  expect  it  and  play  upon  it,  but 
this  was  of  a  shyer  and  more  elusive  sort ;  it  seemed  to 
hold  something  more  seriously  considered,  it  baffled 
him,  even  as  he  enjoyed  its  unction.  Besides  all  this, 


96  THE   HEART   LINE 

too,  there  was  a  secret  romantic  charm  in  the  fact  that 
they  had  shared  together  that  vivid  experience  of  the 
past.  He  came  back  for  another  draught  of  flattery. 

"It  was  odd  that  you  expected  me,  wasn't  it?"  he 
said.  "I  can't  help  wondering  about  it." 

She  had  her  eyes  upon  the  Sausalito  boat,  which 
was  weaving  a  trailing  web  of  foam  past  Alcatraz 
Island.  At  his  words,  she  turned  to  him  with  the 
same  slow  seriousness  as  before  and  replied : 

"I  shouldn't  think  it  would  seem  so  remarkable  to 
you,  your  own  power  is  so  much  more  wonderful." 

"Perhaps  so  in  that  one  case,  but  you  know  I  don't, 
ordinarily,  claim  clairvoyance.  It's  only  occasionally, 
as  the  other  day  with  you,  that  I  attempt  it." 

Her  eyes  awakened ;  she  said  earnestly,  "Was  I 
really  able  to  bring  that  out  in  you?" 

He  caught  at  the  hint.  "Why,  what  else  could  it 
be  but  your  magnetism?  It  was  the  more  strange 
because  I  had  never  seen  you  before." 

The  glow  faded,  and  she  relaxed  her  nervous  energy. 
"Ah,  hadn't  you?  I  wonder!" 

"Why,  had  you  ever  seen  me  before  that  day?" 

"I  think  so.    At  least  you  seem,  somehow,  familiar." 

"When  was  it,  and  where,  then?" 

She  seemed  too  puzzled  to  answer,  or  fatigued  with 
following  an  intangible  thread  of  thought.  As  she 
spoke,  slowly,  intensely,  her  hands  made  large,  vague 
gestures,  often  pausing  in  mid  air,  as  her  voice  paused, 
waiting  for  the  proper  word  to  come.  "I  don't  know. 
It  only  seems  as  if  I  had  been  with  you — or  near 
you,  or  something — I  don't  know  what.  It's  like  a 
dream — or  a  story  I  can't  quite  recall,  only — "  she 
did  not  finish  the  sentence. 


THE   PAYSONS  97 

He  wondered  what  her  game  could  be.  Funda- 
mentally cynical,  though  he  never  permitted  it  to  show 
in  his  manner,  he  distrusted  her  claims  to  prevision. 
There  was,  after  all,  nothing  in  Miss  Payson's  words 
that  might  not  be  accounted  for  by  what  he  knew  of 
the  wiles  of  feminine  psychology.  His  training  had 
taught  him  how  much  a  baseless  hint,  injected  at  the 
proper  moment,  could  accomplish  in  the  masquerade 
of  emotions  and  the  crafty  warfare  of  the  sexes.  That 
he  and  she  had  been  actors  together  in  a  past  uncom- 
prehended  scene,  he  regarded  as  a  mere  coincidence 
of  which  he  had  already  made  good  use ;  he  refused 
to  connect  it  with  her  suggestive  remark,  for  he  was 
sure  that  she  must  have  been  unaware  of  his  presence 
in  Madam  Grant's  room  that  day,  so  long  ago.  It 
seemed  to  him  more  likely  that,  woman-fashion,  she 
had  shot  into  the  air  and  had  brought  down  an  unsus- 
pected quarry.  And  yet,  even  as  a  coincidence,  he 
could  not  quite  dismiss  the  strangeness  of  it  from  his 
mind. 

He  was  preparing  to  turn  it  to  a  sentimental  advan- 
tage, when  Clytie,  who  had  relapsed  into  silence,  sud- 
denly aroused  herself  with  one  of  those  impulsive 
outbursts  which  were  characteristic  of  her. 

"There  is  something  about  it  all  that  is  stranger 
still,  I  think!" 

Her  golden  brows  had  drawn  together,  separated 
by  two  vertical  lines,  as  she  gazed  at  him.  Then  with 
a  little  jet  of  fervor,  she  added : 

"I'm  afraid  I  know  too  much  about  you,  Mr.  Grant- 
hope  !  It's  somewhat  embarrassing,  really.  It  doesn't 
seem  quite  fair,  you  know." 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  understand." 


98  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Oh,  you  know !    You  must  know !" 

He  laughed.  "Really,  Miss  Payson,  it's  very  flat- 
tering, of  course — " 

"Oh,  no,  it's  not  in  the  least  flattering." 

"I  wish  you'd  explain,  then."  He  leaned  bacl^ 
folded  his  arms  and  waited  indulgently.  So  long  as 
he  could  keep  the  conversation  personal,  he  was  sure 
of  being  able  to  manage  her,  and  further  his  own 
ends.  It  amused  him. 

She  busied  herself  with  a  lace  handkerchief  as  she 
continued,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  she  were  ridding  her- 
self of  a  disagreeable  task,  and  always  with  the  slow, 
monotonous  turning  of  her  questing  eyes  toward  him, 
and  away.  "Of  course  I've  heard  many  things  about 
you — you're  a  good  deal  talked  about,  you  know; 
but  it's  not  that  at  all — it's  an  instinctive  knowledge 
I  have  about  you.  I  can't  explain  it.  It's  a  queer 
special  feeling — almost  as  if,  in  some  way,  I  had  the 
right  to  know.  That's  why  I  wanted  to  see  you  again 
— I  hoped  you'd  come.  I  wanted  to  tell  you." 

"But  all  that  certainly  is  flattering,"  he  said.  "I 
wouldn't  be  human  if  I  weren't  pleased  to  hear  that 
you're  interested,  even  if — " 

She  could  not  help  breaking  into  smiles  again,  as 
she  interrupted  him. 

"Oh,  but  I  haven't  told  you    yet." 

"Please  do,  then!" 

"It  sounds  so  foolish  when  I  say  it — so  priggish! 
But  it's  this :  I  don't  at  all  approve  of  you.  Why  in 
the  world  should  I  care?  I  don't  know.  It  isn't  my 
business  to  reform  you,  if  you  need  it."  Now  she  had 
brought  it  out,  she  could  not  look  at  him. 

Curiously  enough,  though  he  had  been  amused  at 


THE   PAYSONS  99 

her  assumption  of  a  circumstantial  knowledge  of  him, 
this  hinted  comprehension  of  his  character,  of  the 
duplicity  of  his  life,  if  it  were  that,  impressed  him 
with  the  existence  in  her  mind  of  some  quality  as 
rare  and  mysterious  as  electricity,  a  real  psychic  gift, 
perhaps.  It  gave  him  an  instant's  pause.  Instinctively 
he  feared  a  more  definite  arraignment.  He  began  a 
little  more  seriously,  now,  to  match  his  cleverness 
against  her  intuition;  and,  for  the  first  defense,  he 
employed  a  move  of  masculine  coquetry. 

"You  have  been  thinking  of  me,  then?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  simply,  "I  have  thought  about 
you  a  good  deal  since  I  was  in  your  studio.  But  I 
suppose  you're  used  to  hearing  things  like  that  from 
women."  She  was  apologetic,  rather  than  sarcastic. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  seemed  to  be  able 
to  make  no  way  against  her  directness.  "I've  thought 
not  a  little  of  you,  too,  Miss  Payson.  You  are  won- 
derfully psychic  and  sensitive.  I  think  you  should 
develop  your  power — you  might  be  able  to  do  extra- 
ordinary things  with  it.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  help  you. 
That  is,"  he  added  humorously,  "if  I'm  not  too  far 
gone  in  your  disapproval." . 

"Oh,  the  disapproval — I  call  it  that  for  want  of  a  bet- 
ter word — isn't  so  important  as  the  fact  that  I  should 
feel  it  at  all,  don't  you  see?  You  remember  that  you 
told  me  I  was  the  kind  of  a  woman  who,  if  she  liked 
a  man,  would  tell  him  so,  freely.  That  is  true.  I 
would  scorn  to  stoop  to  the  immemorial  feminine 
tricks.  I  do  like  you,  and  in  spite  of  what  I  can't  quite 
explain,  too.  I  don't  know  why,  either.  It  seems 
as  if  it's  a  part  of  that  other  feeling  I've  mentioned — 
that  I've  been  with  you,  or  near  you,  before." 


ioo  THE    HEART    LINE 

He  leaned  forward  to  extort  more  of  this  delicious 
confession  from  her.  "Do  you  mean  spiritually,  or 
merely  physically  near?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  an  'elective  affinity'  or  anything  so 
occult  as  that,"  she  laughed.  "Indeed,  I  don't  quite 
know  what  I  do  mean — it's  all  so  vague.  I  can't  form- 
ulate it.  It  escapes  me  when  I  try.  But  I  did  know, 
for  instance,  quite  definitely,  that  I'd  see  you  again.  I 
tell  you  about  it  only  because  I  think  that  you, 
with  your  power  in  that  way,  may  be  able  to  under- 
stand it  and  explain  it  to  me." 

He  thought  he  saw  his  chance,  now,  and  instinctively 
he  began  to  pose,  letting  his  eyes  deepen  and  burn  on 
her.  He  nodded  his  head  and  said  impressively : 

"Yes.  I  have  felt  it,  too,  Miss  Payson.  It's  won- 
derful to  think  that  you  should  have  recognized  me  and 
understood  me  so  well.  No  one  ever  has  before.  We 
are  related  by  some  tie — I'm  sure  we've  met  before, 
somewhere,  somehow — " 

She  jumped  up  and  stood  before  him,  her  hands 
tightly  held,  her  lips  pressed  together.  For  a  moment, 
so,  she  looked  hard  at  him;  then  what  there  had 
been  of  anger  in  her  gaze  softened  to  something  like 
sadness  or  pity. 

"That's  what  I  meant!" 

He  misunderstood  her  remark  and  her  attitude  and 
went  still  farther  astray  from  her  meaning. 

"You  are  not  like  any  other  woman  I  have  ever 
known,"  he  said,  in  the  same  soulful  way. 

"Why  can't  you  be  honest  with  me !"  she  broke  out. 
She  was  astonishingly  alive  now;  there  was  no  trace 
of  her  former  languor.  He  winced  at  realizing,  sud- 
denly, and  too  late,  that  he  had  made  a  false  step. 


THE    PAYSONS  101 

"Why  do  you  make  me  regret  having  been  frank?" 
she  went  on,  with  a  despairing  throb  in  her  voice. 
"You  have  almost  succeeded  in  making  me  ashamed  of 
myself,  already.  That  is  just  what  I  disapprove  of  in 
you.  Don't  imagine  that  you  can  ever  deceive  me 
with  such  sentimentality.  I  shall  always  know  when 
you're  straightforward  and  simple.  That's  what  I've 
been  trying  to  make  you  understand — that  I  do  know !" 

She  turned  slowly  away  from  him.,  almost  hope- 
lessly. For  a  moment  she  remained  immobile,  then 
before  he  had  recovered  his  wits,  she  had  modified  the 
situation  for  him.  Her  eyes  drifted  back  to  his  as 
she  remarked  thoughtfully: 

"I  am  sure,  too,  that  you  could  help  me,  if  you 
would." 

"How?"     He  tried  to  pull  himself  together. 

"Merely  by  being  honest  with  me." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Oh,  I  know  that's  a  good  deal  to  ask,"  she  laughed. 

"Of  me?" 

"Of  any  one." 

"I'll  try,  Miss  Payson,"  he  said,  not  too  seriously. 
"But  you've  frightened  me.  I  don't  dare  think  too 
hard  about  anything,  you're  such  a  witch." 

She  released  him  graciously  and  keyed  down  to 
an  easier  tone. 

"You  must  forgive  me  if  I've  been  too  frank,  Mr. 
Granthope,  but  this  interview  is  almost  like  a  first 
meeting,  and  you  know  how  much  one  is  apt  to  say 
in  such  a  situation.  Let's  not  continue  the  discussion — 
I'm  embarrassed  enough  already.  I  know  I  shall  regret 
what  I've  said.  We'll  talk  of  something  pleasanter. 
Tell  me  about  that  pretty  girl  in  your  office." 


102  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  and  his  tone  was  as  if  he  had 
said,  "Aha!"  He  wondered  if  it  were  possible  that, 
after  all,  it  was  only  this  which  had  moved  her  to 
speak. 

Clytie  frowned,  but  if  she  read  his  thought,  she 
let  it  go  unchallenged. 

"She's  an  original  little  thing;  I  like  her,"  she  added. 

"You  do?"  he  said  mischievously  exaggerating  his 
surprise. 

"Yes,  I  do.  Don't  think  I'm  trying  to  patronize  her, 
but  she's  a  dear — and  she's  very  pretty." 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  shall  have  to  tell  her  that. 
She's  pretty  enough,  at  least,  to  have  been  on  the  stage. 
She  was  in  vaudeville  for  a  couple  of  years.  I  first 
got  acquainted  with  her  at  the  Orpheum.  I've  known 
her  a  long  time.  She's  a  great  help  and  a  great  com- 
fort to  me,  and  a  very  clever  girl." 

"How  long  has  she  been  your  assistant?" 

"Two  years." 

"And  you  haven't  fallen  in  love  with  her  yet  ?" 

Granthope  was  relieved.  He  was  sure  now  that  she 
was,  if  not  jealous,  suspicious  of  his  relations  with 
Fancy.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  encountered 
such  insinuations. 

"Oh,  not  in  the  least,"  he  said.  "I  can  give  you 
my  word  as  to  that.  I  don't  think  it  ever  occurred  to 
me — though  I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  her." 

"And  I  suppose  you're  as  sure  of  her  immunity?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Granthope,  and  in  his  tone 
there  was  the  ring  of  masculine  assurance. 

Clytie  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  "There  are  some 
things  men  never  can  know,  no  matter  how  clairvoyant 
they  are,"  she  said,  looking  away. 


THE   PAYSONS  103 

He  did  not  follow  this  up,  but  arose  to  leave.  "I'm 
afraid  you  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  me,  Miss  Pay- 
son,"  he  said,  "but  I  do  feel  complimented  by  your 
frankness.  Perhaps  I  shall  merit  it — who  knows?" 
It  was  his  turn  to  address  the  distance,  and,  in  spite  of 
his  consciousness  of  an  histrionic  effect,  his  own  words 
sounded  curiously  in  his  ears;  they  seemed  premoni- 
tory. He  shook  himself  free  from  her  influence  again. 
She  had  controlled  the  situation  from  the  first  word; 
he  had  only  made  a  series  of  mistakes.  It  all  confirmed 
his  first  estimate  of  her :  that  she  was  very  well  worth 
his  while,  but  that  her  capture  would  be  difficult. 

Clytie,  too,  had  arisen.  Her  mood  had  lightened, 
and  her  sense  of  humor  had  returned.  "I  hope  I 
haven't  been  either  tragic  or  absurd,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing. "I'm  not  always  so  serious,  Mr.  Granthope.  The 
next  time  I  meet  you  I'll  probably  be  more  conven- 
tional." 

"Then  I  may  see  you  again?" 

"I  doubt  if  you  can  help  it." 

"I  shall  certainly  not  try  to!"  Then  he  paused. 
"You  mean—?" 

"Yes!" 

There  was  something  delightful  to  him  in  this  rapid 
transfer  of  wordless  thought.  It  again  established 
an  intimacy  between  them.  That  she  acknowledged 
such  a  relation  by  anticipating  another  meeting,  an 
inevitable  one,  charmed  him  the  more.  He  might  win, 
after  all,  with  such  assistance  from  her.  Her  power 
of  intuition  aroused  his  curiosity — he  longed  to  experi- 
ment with  it.  She  was  a  new  plaything  which  he  had 
yet  to  learn  to  handle.  Before,  he  had  dominated  her 
easily  enough ;  he  might  do  so  again. 


104  THE   HEART    LINE 

"Miss  Payson,"  he  said,  "won't  you  come  down  to 
my  studio  again  sometime?  I'd  like  to  make  a  more 
careful  examination  of  your  hand,  and  perhaps  I  can 
help  you  in  developing  your  psychic  sense." 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you.  Really,  I  can't  come  again — 
I  shall  be  pretty  busy  for  a  while — I  have  to  go  to  the 
Mercantile  Library  every  afternoon,  looking  up  ma- 
terial for  my  father's  book — and,  after  all,  I  got  what 
I  wanted." 

"What  did  you  want?" 

"Partly  to  see  you." 

He  bowed.     "Curiosity?" 

"Let's  call  it  interest." 

"You   had   no   faith,   then,   in   my   palmistry?" 

"Very  little." 

"Yet  you  acknowledge  that  I  told  you  some  things 
that  were  true?" 

"Haven't  I  told  you  several  things  about  yourself, 
too?" 

"I'd  like  to  hear  more." 

"Oh,  I've  said  too  much,  already." 

"Let's  see.    That  I  am  more  or  less  of  a  villian — " 

"But  a  most  interesting  one!" 

"That  I  have  met  you  before—" 

"Not  perhaps  'met'—" 

"That  Fancy  Gray  is  in  love  with  me — " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  that!" 

"But  you  suspect  it?" 

"If  I  did,  it  was  impertinent  of  me.  It's  none  of  my 
business." 

"Well,  you  won't  come  again — you've  quite  satis- 
fied your  curiosity  by  seeing  me?" 

"Quite*    I've  confirmed  all  my  suspicions." 


THE   PAYSONS  105 

"What  were  they?" 

Clytie  laughed.  "Really,  you're  pushing  me  a  little 
too  hard,  Mr.  Granthope.  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  call 
here,  sometime,  if  you  care  to.  But  my  psychic  powers 
are  quite  keen  enough  already.  They  rather  frighten 
me.  I  want  them  only  explained.  As  I  say,  it's 
embarrassing,  sometimes.  I  hate  to  speak  of  what 
I  feel — it's  all  so  groundless  and  it  sounds  silly." 

"You  know  more,  then,  than  you  mention?" 

"Oh,  much!" 

"About  me,  for  instance?" 

"Yes.  But  it's  vague  and  indefinite.  It  needn't 
worry  you." 

"Even  though  you  disapprove?" 

She  laughed  again.  "You  may  take  that  as  a  com- 
pliment, if  you  like." 

He  nodded.    "It  is  something  that  you  care." 

"I'm  mainly  curious  to  see  what  you'll  do — " 

"Oh,  you're  expecting  something,  then?" 

"I'm  watching  to  see.  I  confess  I  shall  watch  you. 
I  said  that  you  interested  me — that's  what  I  mean. 
You're  going  to — well,  change." 

As  she  stood  between  him  and  the  light  her  soft 
hair  showed  as  fine  and  crisp  as  spun  glass.  Her 
lips  were  sensitively  curved  with  a  flitting  smile,  her 
eyes  were  dreamy  again.  Everything  about  her 
bespoke  a  high  spiritual  caste,  but,  to  Granthope,  this 
only  accented  the  desirability  of  her  bodily  self — it 
would  make  her  the  greater  prize,  unlike  anything 
he  had,  so  far,  been  able  to  win.  He  had  an  epicure's 
delight  in  feminine  beauty,  and  he  knew  how  its  flavor 
should  be  finely  tinctured  by  mind  and  soul ;  even- 
beauty  was  not  exciting  without  that,  and  of  mere 


io6  THE   HEART    LINE 

beauty  he  had  his  fill.  Besides,  she  had  unexpected 
reserves  of  emotion  that  he  was  continually  tempted 
to  arouse.  But  so  far  he  had  hopelessly  mis- 
played  his  part,  and  he  longed  to  prove  his  customary 
skill  with  women. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally,  offering  his  hand,  "I  hope 
I'll  be  able  to  satisfy  you,  sooner  or  later.  I'll  come, 
soon,  for  a  report!" 

"Oh,  my  mood  may  have  changed,  by  that  time." 

He  gave  her  the  farewell  amenities  and  went  down 
the  path  to  the  gate.  There  he  turned  and  saw  her 
still  watching  him.  He  waved  his  hat  and  went  down 
the  steps,  his  mind  restless  with  thoughts  of  her. 

Clytie  remained  a  while  in  the  arbor.  The  fog  had 
begun  to  come  in  now  with  a  vanguard  of  light  fleecy 
clouds  riding  high  in  the  air,  closing  the  bay  in  from 
all  sides.  The  massive  bank  behind  followed  slowly, 
tinted  with  opal  and  rose  from  the  setting  sun.  It 
settled  down,  shutting  out  her  sight  of  the  water,  and 
its  cohorts  were  soon  scurrying  past  her  on  their 
charge  overland  from  ocean  to  harbor.  The  siren  at 
Point  Bonita  sighed  dismally  across  the  channel.  It 
soon  grew  too  cold  to  remain  longer  in  the  garden, 
and  she  went  into  the  house  shivering,  lighted  an 
open  fire  in  the  library  and  sat  down. 

For  half  an  hour  she  sat  there  in  silence,  inert,  list- 
less, lost  in  thought,  her  eyes  on  the  blurred  landscape 
mystic  with  driving  fog.  The  room  grew  darker, 
illuminated  only  by  the  fitful  flashes  of  the  fire.  Her 
still,  relaxed  figure,  fragile  and  delicate  as  an  ivory 
carving,  was  alternately  captured  and  hidden  by  the 
shadow  and  rescued  and  restored  by  the  sudden  gleam 
from  the  hearth.  She  had  not  moved  when  her 


THE   PAYSONS  10; 

father's  step  was  heard  in  the  hall.  He  came  in, 
benignly  sedate.  His  deep  voice  vibrated  through  the 
room. 

"Well,  Cly,  dreaming  again?" 

She  started  at  the  sound  and  came  out  of  her  reverie 
to  rise  and  greet  him  affectionately.  He  put  down 
some  books  and  a  package  of  papers  and  lighted  the 
chandelier,  exchanging  commonplaces  with  her — of  her 
bookbinding  work,  which  she  confessed  to  have 
shirked;  of  the  weather,  with  a  little  of  old  age's 
querulous  complaint  of  rheumatic  touches ;  of  the  black 
cat,  which  was  their  domestic  fetish  and  (an  immor- 
tally interesting  topic  to  him)  of  the  vileness  and 
poisonous  quality  of  San  Francisco  illuminating  gas. 
His  voice  flowed  on  melliflously  with  unctuous  authori- 
ty, as  he  seated  himself  in  his  arm-chair  beneath  the 
lamp,  shook  out  his  evening  paper  and  rattled  its 
flapping  sheets. 

Clytie  evinced  a  mild  interest  in  his  remarks,  smiled 
gently  at  his  familiar  vagaries,  answering  when  replies 
should  be  forthcoming,  in  her  low,  even,  monotonously 
pitched  tones.  She  questioned  him  perfunctorily  about 
the  book  he  was  writing,  an  absorbing  avocation  with 
him,  warding  off  his  usual  disappointment  at  her 
lack  of  sympathy  by  involving  herself  in  a  conver- 
sational web  of  explanation  regarding  Foreign  Trade 
Expansion,  Reciprocal  Profits  and  The  Open  Door  in 
the  Orient. 

"There's  not  much  use  working  on  it  at  the  office," 
he  concluded.     "I'm  too  liable  to  interruptions." 
"Who  interrupted  you  to-day?"  she  asked. 
"Oh,  there  was  a  queer  chap  in  this  afternoon,  an 
insurance   solicitor;  Wooley,   his  name  was.     I   told 


io8  THE    HEART   LINE 

him  I  didn't  want  an  accident  policy,  but  I  happened 
to  tell  him  about  that  time  on  the  Oakland  Mole,  when 
I  got  caught  between  two  trains  in  the  Fourth  of  July 
crush — you  remember?  and  he  told  me  about  all  the 
narrow  escapes  he  ever  heard  of,  trying  to  get  me  to 
go  into  his  company.  Funny  dog  he  was.  He  kept 
me  laughing  and  talking  with  him  for  an  hour.  Then 
Blanchard  came  in.  He  says  he's  coming  around 
to-night."  He  hesitated  and  scanned  her  intently 
through  his  gold-bowed  glasses,  under  his  bushy 
brows.  "I  hope  you  will  treat  him  well,  Cly." 

Her  face  grew  serious  and  her  sensitive  lips  quiv- 
ered, as  she  said: 

"Why  do  you  like  Mr.  Cayley  so  much,  father?" 

"Why,  he's  a  very  intelligent  fellow,  Cly;  I  don't 
know  of  another  young  man  of  his  age  who  is  really 
worth  talking  to.  He  knows  things.  He  has  a  broad 
outlook  and  a  serious  mind.  He's  the  kind  of  young 
man  we  need  to  take  hold  of  political  and  commercial 
reform.  I  tell  you,  the  country  is  going  to  the  dogs 
for  lack  of  men  who  are  interested  in  anything 
outside  of  their  own  petty  concerns.  Why,  he's  the  only 
one  I  know  who  really  seems  interested  in  oriental 
trade  and  all  its  development  means  to  the  Pacific  slope. 
That's  remarkable,  considering  he  isn't  himself  con- 
nected with  any  commercial  enterprise.  I  don't  know 
what  I'd  do  if  I  didn't  have  him  to  discuss  my  subject 
with.  He  seems  to  be  genuinely  interested  in  it.  I 
wish  you  were  as  much  so,  Cly!" 

Clytie  turned  away,  smiling  somewhat  ironically,  an 
uncommon  expression  for  her  engaging  features. 

"You  know/'  she  said  slowly,  "that  I  don't  quite 
trust  him," 


THE   PAYSONS  109 

"Why,  you  two  have  been  friends  long  enough,  you 
should  know  him  better  by  this  time.  You're  intimate 
enough  with  him." 

"Oh,  it's  only  a  feeling  I  have.  You  know  I  have 
my  intuitions — but  what  friendship  there  is  has  been 
of  his  seeking." 

"He's  all  right,  Cly,"  her  father  said  dictatorial  ly. 
"I  haven't  lived  in  the  West  for  fifty  years  without 
knowing  something  of  men.  I  do  want  you  to  learn 
to  appreciate  him.  He's  got  a  future  before  him  and  he 
is  certainly  fond  of  you.  You  know,  if  anything  did 
come  of  it,  I  would — " 

Clytie  arose  abruptly.  "I  think  dinner's  almost 
ready,  father,  and  I'm  hungry.  Are  you  ready?" 

She  was  imperious,  holding  her  tawny  head  erect, 
her  chin  high,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back, 
the  willowy  suppleness  of  her  body  now  grown  rigid. 
Mr.  Payson  sighed  resignedly,  and  allowed  a  moment's 
silence  to  speak  for  him ;  then,  finding  that  his  daugh- 
ter's attitude  continued  to  dominate  the  situation,  he, 
too,  arose,  patted  her  cheek  and  shook  his  head.  This 
pantomime  coaxed-  forth  a  gracious  smile  from  her. 
He  took  his  manuscripts  and  left  to  go  up  to  his  room. 
Clytie  remained  at  the  window  till  he  returned. 

They  had  nearly  finished  their  dinner,  when,  after 
a  casual  dialogue,  she  remarked,  without  looking  at 
him: 

"Father,  do  you  remember  anything  about  an  old 
crazy  woman  who  lived  down  south  of  Market  Street 
somewhere,  years  ago — in  a  cheap  hotel,  I  think  it 
was  ?" 

He  started  at  her  question  and  his  voice,  ordinarily 
so  calm  and  so  mellow,  quavered  slightly. 


no       *  THE    HEART    LINE 

"What  do  you  mean?  Who  was  she?"  he  asked 
earnestly. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  Clytie  said,  stirring 
her  coffee. 

"What  do  you  know  about  her?" 

"Why — I  went  to  see  her  once." 

"You  went  to  see  her?    When?" 

"Then  you  did  know  her !" 

Mr.  Payson  spoke  cautiously,  watching  his  daughter. 
"I  have  heard  about  her,  yes.,  but  I  never  knew  you  had 
been  there.  How  in  the  world  did  that  happen?  It 
must  have  been  a  long  time  ago."  He  stared  as  if 
he  could  scarcely  believe  her  assertion. 

"Mother  took  me  there  once  or  twice.  It's  almost 
the  first  thing  I  remember." 

"She  did?  She  never  told  me!  It's  strange  you 
have  never  mentioned  it  before." 

"Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  mention  it  now.  I  thought, 
somehow,  that  she  wouldn't  want  me  to  tell  you  about 
it." 

His  tone  now  was  disturbed,  anxious,  pitched  in  a 
higher  key. 

"Why  shouldn't  you  speak  of  it?  What  difference 
could  it  possibly  make  ?  I  remember  that  woman,  yes. 
She  was  not  old,  though.  Do  you  recall  her  well? 
You  were  very  young  then." 

"I  can  almost  see  her  now.  She  had  white  hair 
and  black  eyebrows,  with  a  vertical  line  between  them ; 
she  was  pale,  but  with  bright  red  lips.  She  wore  a 
strange  red  gown.  I  think  she  must  have  been  very 
beautiful  at  one  time.  Who  was  she,  father?"  Clytie 
sent  a  calm,  level  glance  at  him. 

"Oh,   she   was   a   friend   of  your   mother's.     Your 


THE    PAYSONS  in 

mother  and  I  used  to  keep  track  of  her  and  help  her, 
that's  all." 

"Was  she  poor,  then?" 

"No,  she  wasn't.  That  was  the  queer  part  of  it. 
She  had  considerable  ability  and  actually  carried 
on  a  real  estate  business,  though  she  was  pretty  mad. 
She  had  lucid  intervals,  though,  when  she  was  as  rea- 
sonable as  any  one." 

"What  became  of  her?" 

"She  died,  I  think,  of  heart  disease.  It  must  have 
been  the  same  year  your  mother  died,  if  I  remember 
rightly." 

"What  was  her  name?" 

Mr.  Payson  grew  more  nervous  at  this  questioning, 
but  he  replied,  "They  called  her  Madam  Grant,  I 
believe.  How  did  you  happen  to  bring  up  the  subject 
after  all  these  years,  Cly?" 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  embarrassed.  "Well — I've 
recalled  that  scene  occasionally,  and  wondered  about 
it — it  has  always  been  a  mystery  I  couldn't  explain, 
and  I  never  dared  talk  about  it.  Of  course,  it's  only 
one  of  those  vivid  early  pictures  of  childhood,  but  it 
has  always  seemed  very  romantic." 

"It  was  a  strange  situation,"  Mr.  Payson  replied. 
"She  was  a  very  unfortunate  woman  and  I  was  sorry 
for  her.  I  never  would  have  permitted  you  to  go,  if 
I  had  known,  of  course,  but  perhaps  your  mother  knew 
best."  He  dropped  his  chin  upon  his  hand.  "Yes, 
I'm  glad  you  went,  now.  What  impression  did  she 
make  on  you?" 

"I  only  remember  thinking  how  beautiful  she  must 
have  been." 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Payson's  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 


ii2  THE   HEART    LINE 

He  pushed  his  chair  back,  rose  and  went  into  the 
library.     Clytie  followed  him. 

"Are  you  going  out  to-night,  father?" 
"Yes,  I've  got  some  business  to  attend  to.*' 
"In  the  evening?"  she  raised  her  brows. 
"Oh,  I'm  only  looking  up  something — for  my  book." 
He  turned  away  to  avoid  her  gaze. 

"Oh!"  She  sat  down  and  took  up  a  book  without 
questioning  him  further.  Soon  after,  the  front  door- 
bell rang  and  Mr.  Cayley  was  shown  in  by  the  Chinese 
servant. 

Blanchard  Cayley  was  well  known  about  town, 
for  he  had"  a  place  in  many  different  coteries.  By  his 
birth  he  inherited  a  position  in  a  select  Southern  set 
that  had  long  monopolized  social  standing  and 
looked  scornfully  down  upon  the  upstart  railroad  aris- 
tocracy and  that  nouveau  riche  element  which  was 
prominent  chiefly  through  the  notoriety  conferred  by 
the  newspapers.  Blanchard  Cayley's  parts  gained  him 
the  entree,  besides,  to  less  conventional  circles,  where 
his  wit  and  affability  made  him  a  favorite.  He  belonged 
to  two  of  the  best  clubs,  but  his  inclinations  led  him 
to  dine  usually  at  French  or  Italian  restaurants,  where 
good-fellowship  and  ability  distinguished  the  com- 
pany. He  wrote  a  little  and  knew  the  best  news- 
paper men  and  all  the  minor  poets  in  town.  He  drew 
a  little,  and  was  familiar  with  all  the  artists.  He 
accounted  himself  a  musical  critic  and  cultivated  com- 
posers. He  knew  San  Francisco  like  a  rat,  knew  it 
as  he  knew  the  intricacies  of  French  forms  of  verse, 
as  well  as  he  knew  the  architecture  of  music  and  the 
history  of  painting.  He  had  long  ceased  his  nocturnal 
meanderings  "down  the  line"  from  the  Hoffman  Bar 


THE    PAYSONS  113 

to  Dunn's  saloon,  but  he  occasionally  took  a  post- 
graduate course,  of  sorts,  to  see  whether,  for  the 
nonce,  the  city  was  wide  open  or  shut.  He  had  dis- 
covered the  Latin  Quarter,  now  well  established  as  a 
show-place  for  jaded  pleasure-seekers,  and  had  played 
bocce  with  the  Italians  in  the  cellars  of  saloons,  before 
the  game  was  heard  of  by  Americans.  He  had  found 
the  marionette  theater  in  its  first  week,  traced  every 
one  of  Stevenson's  haunts  before  the  Tusitala  had  died 
in  Samoa,  knew  the  writings  of  "Phoenix"  almost 
by  heart,  and  had  devoured  half  the  Mercantile  Libra- 
ry. Tar  Flat  and  the  Barbary  Coast  he  knew  as  well 
as  the  Mission  and  North  Beach,  and  as  for  Chinatown, 
he  had  ransacked  it  for  queer  jars,  jade  and  hand-made 
jewelry,  exhausting  its  possibilities  long  before  San 
Franciscans  had  realized  the  presence,  in  that  quarter, 
of  anything  but  an  ill-smelling  purlieu  of  tourists' 
bazaars. 

He  had  "discovered"  women  as  well — women,  for 
the  most  part,  whose  attractions  few  other  persons 
seemed  to  appreciate.  His  last  find  was  Clytie  Pay- 
son — a  much  more  valuable  tribute  to  his  taste  than 
any  heretofore.  He  had  devoted  himself  assiduously 
to  her,  and  it  was  his  boast  that  he  could  remember 
the  hat  she  wore  when  he  first  saw  her,  ten  years 
before.  His  pursuit  of  her  had  been  eccentric.  Cayley 
was  mathematical  and  his  methods  were  built  upon  a 
system.  During  the  first  years  of  their  acquaintance 
he  alternated  months  of  neglect  with  picturesque  arriv- 
als on  nights  so  tempestuous  and  foul  that  his  presence 
would  be  sure  to  be  counted  as  a  flattering  tribute, 
and  would  outweigh,  with  his  obvious  devotion,  the 
previous  languor  of  his  pursuit.  This  was  a  fair 


ii4  THE    HEART    LINE 

sample  of  the  subtlety  of  his  psychological  amours,  for 
Blanchard  Caylcy  was  not  of  the  temperament  to  run 
across  the  room  and  kiss  a  girl  with  verve  and  ardor. 
He  led,  however,  an  intense  mental  life;  there  he 
was  a  creature  of  enthusiasms  and  contempts,  capable 
of  no  intermediate  emotion. 

What  else  was  true  of  his  character  it  would  be 
necessary  to  determine  from  the  several  ladies  of  his 
choice  whom  he  kept  carefully  apart,  recipients  of  his 
subdivided  confidence.  Blanchard  Cayley  did  not 
introduce  female  contemporaries. 

He  wore  a  carefully  trimmed,  reddish,  Vandyke 
beard,  with  a  drooping  mustache;  his  hair  curled  a 
bit  effeminately.  Large  blue  eyes,  the  well-developed 
nose  of  the  hobbyist,  hands  of  a  sixteenth-century 
gentleman,  aristocratic,  well-kept,  soft.  To-night  he 
was  in  half-dress — dinner  jacket  and  gold  studs,  an 
inch  wide  stripe  upon  his  trousers — this  under  a  yellow 
mackintosh  and  cricket  cap,  in  strict  accordance  with 
his  own  ideas  of  form. 

Mr.  Pay  son  was  in  the  library  still  busy  with  his 
manuscript  when  he  entered.  The  two  shook  hands. 
Blanchard's  manner  had  in  it  something  of  a  survival 
of  the  old  school.  He  was  never  awkward,  yet  never 
bombastic.  Suave,  rather,  with  a  semi-humorous  touch 
that  relieved  his  courtesy  of  anything  solemn.  He 
smiled,  showing  his  teeth,  saying,  with  an  appearance 
of  great  interest, 

"Well,  Mr.  Payson,  I  see  you're  still  at  it.  How's 
The  Open  Door  in  the  Orient?" 

"Oh,  getting  on,"  said  Mr.  Payson.  "I  want  to 
read  you  my  last  chapter  when  I  get  a  chance.  I 
think  you'll  like  it." 


Mr.  Pay  son  was  in  the  library  Page  114. 


THE  PAYSONS  us 

Cayley  had  been  successful  in  appearing  to  listen, 
and  at  the  same  time  pay  his  respects  to  Clytie,  whose 
hand  he  did  not  let  go  without  a  personal  pressure 
in  addition  to  the  visible  greeting.  He  kept  it  an 
unpleasant  half-second  longer  than  had  Granthope. 
She  freed  herself  with  a  slight  gesture  of  discomfort. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  go  up-stairs  and  leave  you  men 
alone  to  talk  it  over,"  she  suggested. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  her  father.  "I'll  wait  until 
some  other  time,  only  I  thought  Blanchard  would 
be  interested." 

"Indeed,  I  am,"  Cayley  protested.  "I'm  very 
anxious  to  hear  your  opinion  about  gold,  too.  I  have 
something  to  suggest,  myself.  Oh !"  He  delved  into 
his  breast  pocket.  "Here  are  some  notes  on  the  his- 
tory of  the  trade  dollar,  Mr.  Payson.  You  know  I 
was  speaking  of  it.  I've  been  looking  up  the  subject 
at  the  mint  and  at  the  library  for  you;  I  think  it 
might  give  you  some  ideas." 

Mr.  Payson  took  the  paper  eagerly  and  pushed  up 
his  spectacles  to  examine  it.  "Thank  you ;  thank  you 
very  much.  I'll  be  glad  to  look  it  over.  It's  a 
pleasure  to  find  any  one  nowadays  who's  so  interested 
in  what  is  going  to  be  a  very  vital  question.  You'll 
find  my  cigars  here,  somewhere.  Cly,  you  go  and  find 
the  box,  won't  you?" 

As  Clytie  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  dining- 
room,  he  added,  "You  must  humor  her,  Blanchard, 
she's  a  bit  skittish.  Don't  force  her  hand  and  I  think 
you'll  bring  her  around." 

"Thanks  for  the  tip,  but  I  have  my  idea,"  was  the 
reply.  "It's  only  a  question  of  time  when  I  shall 
be  able  to  produce  the  psychological  condition  I  want." 


Ii6  THE   HEART    LINE 

Mr.  Payson  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "I  don't 
know.  That  isn't  the  way  we  went  about  it  when  I 
was  young.  We  didn't  bother  much  with  psychology 
then.  We  had  emotions  to  attend  to." 

"Oh,  love-making  is  just  as  much  a  science  as  any- 
thing else,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't 
progress.  There  are  modern  methods,  you  know; 
it's  only  a  form  of  hypnotism."  He  smiled  blandly. 

When  he  and  Clytie  were  alone — a  situation  she 
seemed  to  delay  as  much  as  possible — Cayley  sat  down 
opposite  her  with  an  ingratiating,  disarming  smile. 
He  was  neither  eager  nor  impressive.  He  was  sure 
of  himself.  It  did  not,  as  he  had  said,  seem  to  matter 
a  great  deal  about  her  emotions;  he  scarcely  consid- 
ered her  otherwise  than  as  a  mind  whose  defenses  he 
was  to  overthrow  in  an  intellectual  contest.  He  began 
with  elaborate  circumlocution. 

"Well,  I've  discovered  something." 

Her  delicate  eyebrows  rose. 

"It  is  a  curious  botanical  fact  that  there  are  four 
thousand  lamp-posts  in  the  city  of  San  Francisco." 

"Why  botanical?" 

"That  is  just  what  I  expected  you  to  ask." 

"Then  I'll  not  ask  it."  She  was  already  on  the 
defense. 

"But  you  did!" 

"Well?"    She  appeared  to  resent  his  tone. 

"Now,  see  here!"  He  laid  his  right  forefinger  to 
his  left  palm.  "Suppose  a  Martian  were  visiting  the 
earth.  He  wouldn't  at  first  be  able  to  distinguish  the 
properties  of  things.  So,  seeing  these  four  thousand 
lamp-posts,  he  might  consider  them  as  a  part  of  the 
Terrene  flora — queer  trees." 


THE   PAYSONS  117 

It  was  like  a  game  of  chess,  and  it  was  evident  that 
she  could  not  foresee  his  next  move.  The  detour  was 
too  complicated.  She  seemed,  by  her  attitude,  to  be 
on  her  guard,  but  allowed  him,  with  a  nod  of  assent, 
to  proceed. 

"Now,  suppose  you  have  the  Martian,  or  let  us  call 
it  the  uncorrelative  point  of  view.  Suppose  you  use 
brain-cells  that  have  hitherto  been  quiescent  or  unde- 
veloped." 

"I  don't  exactly  follow."     Her  attention  wandered. 

He  probed  it.  "Suppose  I  should  get  up  and  kiss 
you." 

She  awoke  suddenly. 

"You  see  what  I  mean  now?"  he  continued.  "You 
exploded  a  new  cell  then.  You  gained  a  new  point 
of  view  with  regard  to  me.  Don't  be  afraid.  I'm  not 
going  to  kiss  you." 

"Indeed,  you're  not!"  Her  alarm  subsided;  her 
resentment,  rising  to  an  equal  level,  was  drawn  off  in  a 
smile  at  the  absurdity  of  the  discussion. 

He  went  on:     "But  you  must  acknowledge  that  I» 
have,  at  least,  produced  a  psychological  condition.   I'm 
going  to  use  'that  new  cell  again."    He  waited  for  her 
answer. 

"Dear  me!"  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "We're  getting 
very  far  away  from  the  lamp-posts.  I'm  quite  in 
the'dark." 

He  proceeded:  "My  character  is  lighted  by  four 
thousand  lamp-posts  also." 

"Ah,  I  see !  You  want  me  to  regard  them  as  botani- 
cal facts.  I,  as  a  supposititious  Martian,  with  this  won- 
derful new  cell,  am  to  perceive  in  you  something  that 
is  not  true?" 


n8  THE    HEART    LINE 

"No,  for  in  Mars,  the  lamp-posts,  we  will  suppose, 
are  vegetables — not  mechanical  objects." 

"A  little  more  light  from  the  lamp-posts,  please." 

"They  are  emotions,  alive  and  growing.  They  have 
heat  as  well  as  light,  in  spite  of  their  subtleties.  I  want 
you  to  perceive  the  fact  that  my  methodical  nature 
shows  that  I  have  a  determined,  potent  stimulus — 
that  I  have  energy — that  I  am  in  earnest." 

She  seemed  to  sniff  the  danger  now  and  stood  at 
gaze."  He  went  on: 

"I  shall  keep  at  the  attempt  until  you  do  look  at  me 
in  this  way — till  I've  educated  these  dormant  cells." 

"If  you  are  leading  up  to  another  proposal,"  Clytie 
said,  "I  must  say  I  admire  your  devotion  to  method, 
but  it  is  time  thrown  away." 

He  took  this  calmly  enough.  He  took  everything 
calmly;  but  he  did  not  abate  his  persistence.  "I'm 
not  leading  up  to  a  proposal  so  much  as  I  am  to  an 
acceptance." 

Clytie  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "You'll  be  telling 
me  you're  in  love  with  me  next." 

"Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"A  half-dozen  proposals  have  not  convinced  me." 

"Seven,"  he  corrected.    "This  is  the  eighth." 

"How  long  do  you  intend  to  keep  it  up?" 

"Until  I  produce  in  your  mind  a  psychological  con- 
dition which  will  convince  you  that  I'm  in  earnest, 
that  I  am  sincere,  that  I  am  the  man  for  you.  Then 
I  shall  produce  an  emotional  reflex — it's  sure  to  follow. 
It  may  come  to-night  and  it  may  come  next  year. 
Sooner  or  later  circumstances  will  bring  about  this 
crystallization.  Some  shock  may  help;  it  may  be  a 
simple  growth.  I  am  sure  to  win  you  in  the  long  run. 


THE   PAYSONS  119 

I'm  bound  to  have  you,  and  I  will,  if  I  have  to  make 
a  hundred  attempts.  You  can't  dismiss  me,  for  I'm 
an  old  friend  and  you  need  me.  I  have  educated  you, 
I  have  broadened  your  horizon.  You  see,  I  am  play- 
ing with  my  cards  on  the  table." 

"But  without  trumps."     Clytie  stifled  a  yawn. 

"Meaning,  I  suppose,  that  I  have  no  heart?  Clubs 
may  do.  I  rely  upon  your  atavism." 

"I  suppose  you  have  as  much  heart  as  can  be  made 
out  of  brain." 

"What  if  I  say  that  I'm  jealous?  Will  that  prove 
that  I  have  a  heart?" 

"Oh,  you're  too  conceited  ever  to  be  jealous." 

"But  I  am !  I'll  prove  it.  I  happen  to  know  that 
that  palmist  person,  Granthope,  was  here  this  after- 
noon and  you  spent  half  an  hour  with  him.  How's 
that?" 

"How  do  you  know?"  She  awoke  to  a  greater 
interest. 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  I  make  it  my  busi- 
ness to  know  all  about  you.  This  came  by  accident, 
though.  I  was  on  the  Hyde  Street  car  and  I  saw 
him  get  off  and  come  in  here.  I  waited  at  the  end  of 
the  road  till  he  went  back.  Now,  what  if  I  should 
tell  your  father  that  you  have  been  entertaining  a 
faking  palmist  here,  on  the  sly  ?"  He  leaned  back  and 
folded  his  hands. 

Clytie  rose  swiftly  and  walked  to  the  door  without 
a  look  at  him. 

"Father,"  she  called,  "Mr.  Cayley  has  something 
to  say  to  you." 

"Never  mind,"  Cayley  protested.  "That  was  merely 
an  experiment." 


120  THE   HEART    LINE 

Mr.  Payson,  in  overcoat  and  silk  hat,  thrust  a  mildly 
expectant  head  in  the  room. 

"It  was  only  about  the  trade  dollar  business,"  said 
Cayley.  "I'll  tell  you  some  other  time." 

Mr.  Payson  withdrew,  scenting  no  mischief,  and 
Clytie  sat  down  without  a  word. 

"Thought  you'd  call  my  bluff,  did  you?"  said  Cay- 
ley,  unruffled.  "I  like  spirit!" 

"If  you  don't  look  out  you'll  succeed  in  boring 
me."  Clytie's  manner  had  shown  an  amused  scorn 
rather  than  resentment.  She  was  evidently  not  afraid 
of  him. 

"You're  fighting  too  hard  to  be  bored/'  he  remarked 
coolly.  He  added,  "Then  you  are  interested  in  him, 
are  you?" 

"I  am."    Clytie  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"I've  heard  a  lot  about  him  and  he  appeals  to  my 
imagination.  I  scarcely  think  I  need  to  apologize  for 
it.  Have  you  any  objection  to  my  knowing  him?" 

"I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  get  mixed  up  with  him; 
since  he's  been  taken  up  the  women  are  simply  crazy 
about  him,  as  they  always  are  about  any  charlatan. 
They're  all  running  after  him  and  calling  on  him  and 
ringing  him  up  at  all  hours.  Why,  Cly,  they  actually 
lie  in  wait  for  him  at  his  place;  trying  to  get  a 
chance  to  talk  to  him  alone.  I  don't  exactly  see  you  in 
that  class,  that's  all.  You  can  scarcely  blame  me." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  rung  him  up  yet,"  said  Clytie,  "but 
there's  no  knowing  what  I  may  do,  of  course,  with  all 
my  unexploded  brain-cells." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  come  here,  then?" 

"He  came  to  see  me,  I  suppose." 


THE   PAYSONS  121 

Cayley  accepted  the  rebuff  gracefully.  "Well,  in 
another  month,  when  some  one  else  comes  along,  peo- 
ple will  drop  him  with  a  thud.  He's  a  nine  days' 
wonder  now,  but  he's  too  spectacular  to  last.  This  is 
a  great  old  town!  We  need  another  new  fakir  now 
that  the  old  gentleman  in  the  Miller  house  has  stopped 
his  Occult  Brotherhood  in  the  drawing-room  and  his 
antique  furniture  repository  in  the  cellar.  I  haven't 
heard  of  anything  so  picturesque  since  that  Orpheum 
chap  caught  the  turnips  on  a  fork  in  his  teeth,  that 
were  tossed  from  the  roof  of  the  Palace  Hotel.  I  sup- 
pose I'll  have  a  good  scandal  about  Granthope,  pretty 
soon,  to  add  to  my  collection." 

Clytie  accepted  the  diversion,  evidently  only  too  glad 
to  change  the  subject.  "What  collection?"  she  asked. 

"My  San  Francisco  Improbabilities.  I've  got  a 
note-book  full  of  them — things  no  sane  Easterner 
would  believe  possible,  and  no  novelist  dare  to  use 
in  fiction." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  your  telling  me.  What  are 
they?  One  was  that  house  made  entirely  of  doors, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  the  'house  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  doors' 
at  the  foot  of  Ninth  Street.  Then,  there  is  the  hulk 
of  the  Orizaba  over  by  the  Union  Iron  Works,  where 
'Frank  the  Frenchman'  lives  like  a  hermit,  eats  swill 
and  bathes  in  the  sewage  of  the  harbor.  Then  there's 
'Munson's  Mystery*  on  the  North  beach — nobody  has 
ever  found  out  who  Munson  is.  And  Dailey,  the  star 
eater  of  the  Palace  Hotel — he  used  to  have  four  can- 
vas-back ducks  cooked,  selected  one  and  used  only  the 
juice  from  the  others;  he  ordered  soup  at  a  dollar  a 
plate;  and  he  had  a  happy  way  of  buying  a  case  of 


122  THE    HEART    LINE 

champagne  with  each  meal,  drinking  only  the  top  glass 
from  each  bottle." 

Clytie  laughed  now,  for  Cayley  was  in  one  of  his 
most  amusing  and  enthusiastic  moods.  "Do  you 
remember  that  tramp  who  lived  all  summer  in  the 
Hensler  vault  in  Calvary  Cemetery?" 

"Yes,  but  that  isn't  so  impossible  as  Kruger's  castle 
out  in  the  sand-hills  by  Tenth  Avenue.  It's  a  perfect 
jumble  of  job-lot  buildings  from  the  Mid-winter  Fair, 
like  a  nightmare  palace.  I  went  out  there  once  and 
saw  old  Mother  Kruger,  so  tortured  with  rheumatism 
that  she  had  to  crawl  round  on  her  hands  and  knees. 
She  had  only  one  tooth  left.  The  old  man  is  one  of 
the  last  of  the  wood-engravers  and  calls  himself  the 
Emperor  of  the  Nations.  He  has  resurrected  Hannibal 
and  an  army  of  two  hundred  thousand  men;  also  he 
revived  Pompeii  for  three  days.  He  wanted  to  bring 
Mayor  Sutro  back  to  life  for  me,  but  I  wouldn't 
stand  for  it." 

Cayley  swept  on  with  his  anecdotes.  "Who  would 
believe  the  story  of  'Big  Bertha,'  who  buncoed  all  the 
swellest  Hebrews  in  town,  and  ended  by  playing 
Mazeppa  in  tights  at  the  Bella  Union  Theater?  Who 
has  written  the  true  story  of  Dennis  Kearney,  the 
hack-driver,  who  had  his  speeches  written  for  him  by 
reporters,  and  went  East  with  a  big  head,  uncon- 
sciously to  plagiarize  Wendell  Phillips  in  Fanueil  Hall  ? 
Or  of  'Mammy'  Pleasant,  the  old  negress  who  had 
such  mysterious  influence  over  so  many  millionaires — • 
who  couldn't  be  bribed — who  died  at  last,  with  all  her 
secrets  untold?  There's  Romance  in  purple  letters! 

"What  do  you  think  of  a  first  folio  Shakespeare, 
the  rent-roll  of  Stratford  parish,  and  a  collection  of 


THE    PAYSONS  123 

Incunabula  worth  thirty  thousand  dollars,  kept  in  the 
deserted  library  on  Montgomery  Street  in  a  case,  by 
Jove,  without  a  lock!  What's  the  matter  with  Little 
Pete,  the  Chinaman,  jobbing  all  the  race-tracks  in 
California?  Who'd  believe  that  there  are  streets  here, 
within  a  mile  of  Lotta's  fountain,  so  steep  that  they 
pasture  cows  on  the  grass?" 

"Then  there's  Emperor  Norton,  and  the  Vigilance 
Committee,  and  all  the  secrets  of  the  Chinatown  slave 
trade,"  Clytie  contributed,  with  aroused  interest. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  speaking  of  that  sort  of  thing.  That' s 
been  done,  and  the  East  and  England  think  that 
Romance  departed  from  here  with  the  red-shirted 
miner.  Everybody  knows  about  the  Bret  Harte  type  of 
adventure.  It's  the  things  that  are  Agoing  on  now 
or  have  happened  within  a  few  years — like  finding 
that  Chinese  woman's  skeleton  upside  down,  built  into 
the  wall  of  the  house  on  the  corner  of  Powell  and 
Sutter;  like  Bill  Dockery,  the  food  inspector,  who 
terrorized  the  San  Bruno  road,  like  a  new  Claude 
Duval,  holding  up  the  milkmen  with  a  revolver  and 
a  lactometer,  and  went  here,  there  and  everywhere, 
into  restaurants  and  hotels  all  over  the  peninsula, 
dumping  watered  milk  into  the  streets  till  San  Fran- 
cisco ran  white  with  it." 

"Then  there's  Carminetti's,"  Clytie  recalled,  now. 
"That's  modern  enough,  and  typical  of  San  Francisco, 
isn't  it?  I  mean  not  so  much  what's  done  there,  as 
the  way  they  do  it.  I've  always  wanted  to  go  down 
there  some  Saturday  night  and  see  just  what  it's  like." 

"I  wouldn't  want  you  to  be  seen  there,  Cly,  it 
wouldn't  do."  Cayley  shook  his  head  decidedly. 

"Why  wouldn't  it  do?" 


124  THE    HEART    LINE 

"It's  a  little  too  lively  a  crowd.  You'd  be  dis- 
gusted, if  they  happened  to  hit  things  up  a  bit,  as  they 
often  do." 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  be  privileged  to  see 
what  is  going  on.  It's  a  part  of  my  education,  isn't 
it  ?  It's  all  innocent  enough,  from  what  you  say ;  it's 
at  worst  nothing  but  vulgar.  I  think  I  am  proof 
against  that." 

"People  would  get  an  altogether  wrong  opinion  of 
you.  They'd  think  you  were  fast." 

"I  fast?"  Clytie  smiled.  "I  think  I  can  risk  that. 
I  shouldn't  probably  want  to  go  more  than  once,  it's 
true.  You  don't  know  me,  that's  all.  You  don't 
believe  that  I  can  go  from  one  world  of  convention 
to  another  and  accept  the  new  rules  of  life  when  it's 
necessary.  It's  just  for  that  reason  that  I  do  wish 
to  go — as,  when  I  went  to  London,  I  wanted  to  see  if 
1  could  accept  all  their  slow,  poky  methods  of  business 
and  transportation  and  everything  and  find  out  the 
reason  of  it  all  for  myself,  before  I  thought  of  criti- 
cizing it.  I  want  to  understand  Carminetti's,  if  I  can, 
and  if  you  won't  take  me,  I'll  find  some  one  who  will." 

"Granthope,  perhaps  ?"  Cayley  suggested  with  irony. 

"I  have  no  doubt  he'd  understand  my  motives  better 
than  you  do !" 

"Well,  it  might  be  an  interesting  experiment.  Miss 
Payson  at  Carminetti's — there's  a  San  Francisco  con- 
trast for  you !" 

"You  may  add  it  to  your  list  of  Improbabilities. 
Study  me,  if  you  like,  and  put  me  in  your  list.  You 
may  find  that  I  have  a  surprise  or  two  left  for  you." 
She  smiled  to  herself  and  threw  back  her  head  proudly. 

"You  do  tempt  me  to  try  it,"  he  said,  coolly  watch- 


THE   PAYSONS  125 

ing  her,  "You'd  look  as  inconsistent  there  as  those  old 
French  family  portraits  in  that  saloon  out  on  the  Beach 
— Lords  of  Les  Baux,  they  were,  I  believe,  administra- 
tors of  the  high  justice,  the  middle  and  the  low! 

"And,  oh !"  he  added,  "  that  reminds  me  of  another 
thing  I  found  to-day  while  I  was  looking  over  a  file 
of  the  Chronicle,  digging  up  this  trade  dollar  busi- 
ness. It  was  way  back  in  1877;  a  queer  story,  but  I 
suppose  it's  true." 

"What  was  it?"  Clytie  asked.  The  rays  of  the 
lamp  shot  her  hair  with  gold  sparks  as  she  sat  in  a 
low  chair,  listening. 

"Why,  there  was  an  old  woman  who  was  half 
crazy;  she  lived  down  south  of  Market  Street  some- 
where in  the  most  fearful  squalor." 

Clytie  suddenly  moved  back  into  the  shadow. 

"Yes,  yes, — what  else?"  She  followed  his  words 
with  absorbed  attention. 

"There  was  no  furniture  except  a  lot  of  boxes  and 
a  bookcase.  And  here's  the  remarkable  thing:  there 
was  about  two  inches  of  rubbish  and  dirt  matted  down 
all  over  the  floor,  where  she  used  to  hide  money  and 
food  and  any  old  thing,  wrapped  in  little  packages. 
When  she  died,  her  stuff  was  auctioned  off,  and  they 
found  a  trunk  with  a  whole  new  wedding  outfit  in  it. 
How's  that?" 

"What  was  her  name  ?"  Clytie  asked  breathlessly. 

"I  don't  remember  it.  She  was  a  sort  of  clairvoyant, 
I  believe.  There  was  a  little  boy  lived  with  her,  too. 
It  seems  he  disappeared  after  she  died.  Ran  away." 

Clytie  leaned  forward  again,  her  eyes  wide  open  and 
staring.  Her  hands  were  tightly  clasped  together. 

"A  little  boy?"  she  repeated. 


126  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Why,  that's  what  it  said  in  the  paper.  Great  story, 
isn't  it?" 

Clyde's  breath  came  and  went  rapidly,  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  breathe  in  a  storm,  amidst  the  dashing  of 
waves.  The  color  went  from  her  cheeks,  her  thin 
nostrils  dilated.  Then,  retreating  into  the  shade  again, 
she  managed  to  say: 

"It  certainly  is  romantic." 

"No  one  would  believe  a  thing  like  that  could  be 
true,"  he  followed. 

"No,  I  can  scarcely  believe  it's  possible,  myself,"  she 
replied,  controlling  her  agitation. 

Blanchard  Cayley  ran  on  and  on  with  his  talk. 
Clytie  gave  him  scant  attention,  answering  in  mono- 
syllables. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER 

Two  hours  after  leaving  Granthope's  studio,  Mr. 
Gay  P.  Summer  had  "dated"  Fancy  Gray.  Mr.  Sum- 
mer was  a  "Native  Son  of  the  Golden  West" ;  he  had. 
indeed,  risen  to  the  honorable  station  of  Vice  Presi- 
dent of  the  Fort  Point  Parlor  of  that  ecstatic  organi- 
zation. He  was,  in  his  modest  way,  a  leader  of  men, 
and  aspired  to  a  corresponding  mastery  over  women. 
In  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  pursuit  and  conquest  of 
the  fair  sex,  Mr.  Summer  was  prompt,  ingenious  and 
determined.  Before  two  weeks  were  over  he  was 
able  to  boast,  to  his  room-mate,  of  Fancy's  subjection. 
Fancy  herself  might  equally  well  have  boasted  of  his. 
At  the  end  of  this  time  he  was,  at  least,  in  possession 
of  her  photograph,  six  notes  written  in  a  backward, 
slanting  penmanship,  twelve  words  to  the  damask 
page,  with  the  date  spelled  out,  a  lock  of  hair  (though 
this  was  arrant  rape),  and  one  gray  suede,  left-hand 
glove.  These  he  displayed,  as  trophies  of  the  chase, 
upon  the  bureau  of  his  bedroom  and  defended  them, 
forbye,  from  the  asteistic  comments  of  his  room-mate, 
an  unwilling  and  unconfessed  admirer  of  Gay  P.  Sum- 
mer's power  to  charm  and  subdue. 

In  those  two  weeks  much  had  been  done  that  it  is 
not  possible  to  do  elsewhere  than  in  the  favored  city 
by  the  Golden  Gate.  A  Sunday  excursion  to  the  beach 
was  the  fruit  of  his  first  telephonic  conversation. 
There  are  beaches  in  other  places,  indeed,  but  there 

127 


128  THE    HEART    LINE 

is  no  other  Carville-by-the-Sea.  This  capricious  sub- 
urb, founded  upon  the  shifting  sands  of  "The  Great 
Highway,"  as  San  Francisco's  ocean  boulevard  is 
named,  is  a  little,  freakish  hamlet,  whose  dwellings — 
one  could  not  seriously  call  them  houses — are  built,  for 
the  most  part,  of  old  street-cars.  The  architecture  is 
of  a  new  order,  frivolously  inconsequent.  According 
to  the  owner's  fancy,  the  cars  are  placed  side  by  side 
or  one  atop  the  other,  arranged  every  way,  in  fact, 
except  actually  standing  on  end.  From  single  cars, 
more  or  less  adapted  for  temporary  occupancy,  to 
whimsical  residences,  in  which  the  car  appears  only  in 
rudimentary  fragments,  a  suppressed  motif  suggested 
by  rows  of  windows  or  by  sliding  doors,  the  owners' 
taste  and  originality  have  had  wanton  range.  Bal- 
conies jut  from  roofs,  piazzas  inclose  sides  and  fronts, 
cars  are  welded  together,  dovetailed,  mortised,  added 
as  ells  at  right  angles  or  used  terminally  as  kitchens 
to  otherwise  normal  habitations. 

Gay  P.  Summer  was,  with  his  room-mate,  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  car  of  the  more  modest  breed.  It  was  a 
weather-worn,  blistered,  orange-colored  affair  that  had 
once  done  service  on  Mission  Street.  The  cash-box 
was  still  affixed  to  the  interior,  the  platform,  shaky 
as  it  was,  still  held ;  the  gong  above,  though  cracked, 
still  rang.  There  was  a  partition  dividing  what  they 
called  their  living-room,  where  the  seats  did  service 
for  bunks,  from  the  kitchen,  where  they  were  bridged 
for  a  table  and  perforated  for  cupboards.  There  was 
a  shaky  canvas  arrangement  over  a  plank  platform ; 
and  beneath,  in  the  sand,  was  buried  a  treasure  of 
beer  bottles,  iron  knives,  forks  and  spoons  and  wood- 
en plates. 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER    129 

Here,  unchaperoned  and  unmolested,  save  by  the 
wind  and  sun,  Gay  P.  Summer  and  Fancy  Gray  pro- 
ceeded to  get  acquainted.  They  made  short  work  of 
it. 

Fancy's  velvet  cheeks  were  painted  with  a  fine  rose 
color  that  day.  Her  hair  looked  well  in  disorder ;  how 
much  better  it  would  have  looked,  had  it  kept  its  nat- 
ural tone,  she  did  not  realize.  Her  firm,  white  line 
of  zigzag  teeth  made  her  smile  irresistible,  even 
though  she  chewed  gum.  Her  eyes  were  lambent,  flick- 
ering from  brown  to  green ;  her  lower  lids,  shaded  with 
violet,  made  them  seem  just  wearied  enough  to  give 
them  softness.  None  of  this  was  lost  on  Gay. 

He,  too,  was  well-developed,  masculine,  agile,  with 
a  juvenile  glow  and  freshness  of  complexion  that 
rivaled  hers.  His  dress  was  jimp  and  artful,  with  tie 
and  socks  of  the  latest  and  most  vivid  mode.  Upon 
his  short,  pearl,  covert  coat,  he  wore  a  mourning  band, 
probably  for  decoration  rather  than  as  a  badge  of 
affliction.  His  eyes  were  still  bright  and  clear  without 
symptoms  of  dissipation.  His  laughter  was  good  to 
hear,  but,  as  to  his  talk,  little  would  bear  repetition — 
slangy  badinage,  the  braggadocio  of  youth,  a  gay  run- 
ning fire  of  obvious  retort  and  innuendo,  frolic  and  flir- 
tations. That  Fancy  appeared  to  enjoy  it  should  go 
without  saying.  She  was  not  for  criticism  of  her  host 
and  entertainer  that  fine  day.  She  let  herself  go  in 
the  way  of  gaiety  he  led  and  slanged  him  jest  for  jest, 
for  Fancy  herself  had  a  pert  and  lively  tongue. 

Upon  one  point  only  did  she  fail  to  meet  him.  Not 
a  word  in  regard  to  her  employer  could  he  get  from 
her.  Again  and  again,  Gay  came  back  to  the  subject 
of  the  palmist  and  his  business  secrets ;  Fancy  parried 


130  THE    HEART    LINE 

his  queries  every  time.  He  tried  her  with  flattery — she 
laughed  in  his  face.  He  attempted  to  lead  her  on  by 
disclosing  vivacious  secrets  of  his  own  life ;  his  ammu- 
nition was  only  wasted  upon  her.  He  coaxed;  he 
threatened  jocosely  (she  defended  herself  ably  from 
his  punitive  kiss),  but  her  discretion  was  impregnable. 
She  made  merry  at  his  expense  when  he  sulked.  She 
tantalized  him  when  he  pleaded.  Her  wit  was  too 
nimble  for  him  and  he  gave  up  the  attempt. 

The  stimulation  of  this  first  meeting  went  to  Fancy's 
head.  She  laughed  like  a  child.  She  sang  snatches 
from  her  vaudeville  days  and  mimicked  celebrities. 
Gay  dropped  his  pose  of  worldly  wisdom  and  made 
shrieking  puns.  They  played  like  Babes  in  the  Wood. 

At  seven  o'clock,  hungry  and  sun-burned,  they 
walked  along  the  beach  to  the  Cliff  House  and  dined 
upon  the  glazed  veranda,  watching  the  surf  break  on 
Seal  Rocks.  As  they  sat  there  in  the  dusk,  haunted 
by  an  elusive  waiter,  Gay  waxed  eloquent  about  him- 
self, told  of  his  high  office  in  the  Native  Sons,  revealed 
the  amount  of  his  salary  at  the  bank,  touched  lightly 
upon  his  previous  amours,  bragged  loftily  of  his  indis- 
cretions at  exuberant  inebriated  festivals,  puffing  mag- 
nificently the  while  at  a  "two-bit"  cigar. 

Fancy  paid  for  her  meal  by  listening  to  him  con- 
scientiously, ejaculating  "No!"  and  "Yes?"  or  "Say, 
Gay,  that's  a  josh,  isn't  it?"  If  her  mind  wandered 
(Fancy  was  nobody's  fool),  he  did  not  perceive  it. 

To  their  cocktails  and  California  claret  they  now 
added  a  Benedictine,  and  Gay  grew  still  more  confi- 
dential. The  night  fell,  and  the  crowd  began  to  leave. 
They  walked  entirely  round  the  hotel  corridor,  bought 
an  abalone  shell  split  into  layers  of  opalescent  hues, 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     131 

then  with  a  last  look  at  the  sea-lions,  barking  in  the 
surge,  they  walked  for  the  train,  found  a  place  in 
an  open  car  and  sat  down,  wedged  into  a  hilarious 
crowd,  reveling  in  song  and  peanuts. 

Disregarded  was  the  superb  view  they  passed.  The 
train,  skirting  the  precipitous  cliffs  along  the  Golden 
Gate,  commanded  a  splendor  of  darkling  water  and 
tumultuous  mountain  distances,  theatrical  in  beau- 
ty. The  sea  splashed  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice 
beneath  them.  The  hills  rose  above  their  heads,  the 
intermittent  twinkle  of  lighthouses  punctuated  the  pur- 
ple gloom.  It  was  all  lost  upon  them.  Fancy's  head 
drooped  to  Gay's  shoulder.  He  put  his  arm  about 
her,  cocking  his  hat  to  one  side  that  it  might  not 
strike  hers  as  he  leaned  nearer.  No  one  observed 
them,  no  one  cared,  for  every  Jack  had  his  Jill,  and 
a  simple,  primitive  comradeship  had  settled  upon  the 
wearied  throng.  A  baby  whined  occasionally  as  the 
train  lurched  round  the  sharp  curves  of  the  track.  A 
riotous  yell  or  two  came  from  the  misogynists  of  the 
smoking  compartment.  Fancy  did  not  talk.  Gay's 
loquacity  oozed  away.  He  was  content  to  feel  her 
breathing  against  his  side. 

There  were  telephone  conversations  often  after  that, 
then  occasional  lunches  down-town,  when  Fancy,  al- 
ways modishly  dressed,  drew  many  an  eye  to  her  well- 
rounded,  well-filled  Eton  jacket,  her  smart  red  hat, 
her  fresh  white  gloves  and  her  high-heeled  shoes.  Gay 
was  proud  of  her,  and  he  showed  her  off  to  his  friends 
without  caution.  Fancy  was  nothing  loath.  Occa- 
sionally they  went  to  the  theater,  dining  previously 
in  style  at  some  popular  restaurant,  where  Gay  hoped 


1 32  THE    HEART    LINE 

that  he  might  be  seen  with  her.  To  such  as  discovered 
them,  he  would  bow  with  proud  proprietorship;  or 
perhaps  saunter  over,  on  some  flimsy  pretext,  to  hear 
his  friends  say,  with  winks  and  smiles: 

"By  Jove,  that  girl's  all  right,  old  man!  She's  a 
stunner.  Say,  introduce  me,  will  you?" 

To  which  Gay  would  answer: 

"Not  on  your  folding  bed !  This  is  a  close  corpora- 
tion, old  man.  I've  got  that  claim  staked  out,  see? 
So  long!"  and  walk  away  pleased. 

At  the  theater,  he  always  made  a  point  of  going 
out  between  the  acts,  in  order  that  his  reentry  might 
point  more  conspicuously  at  his  conquest.  Afterward, 
at  Zinkand's,  having  engaged  a  table  beside  which  all 
the  world  must  pass,  he  would  pose,  apparently  obliv- 
ious to  the  crowd,  talking  to  her  with  absorbed  interest 

Fancy  suffered  the  exhibition  without  displeasure. 
She  had  no  objection  to  being  looked  at  To  make 
a  picture  of  herself,  to  play  the  arch  and  coquettish 
before  a  room  of  well-dressed  folk  was  one  of  the 
things  she  did  best. 

She  was  recognized  occasionally  and  pointed  out  by 
one  or  another  of  Granthope's  patrons.  "There  she  is ; 
over  behind  you,  in  the  white  lace  hat,  with  a  chate- 
laine watch — don't  look  just  yet,  though,"  was  the 
almost  audible  formula  which  Gay  P.  Summer  learned 
to  wait  for.  At  such  times  his  chest  swelled  with 
pride.  To  walk  into  a  restaurant  with  her  late  at  night 
and  leave  a  wake  of  excited  whispers  behind  him,  was 
all  he  knew  of  fame. 

It  did  not  escape  Gay's  notice,  however,  that  Fan- 
cy's eyes  were  not  always  for  him.  In  the  middle  of 
his  longest  and  most  elaborate  story,  she  would  often 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     133 

throw  a  surreptitious  glance  about  the  room,  letting 
it  rest  for  an  instant — a  butterfly's  caress — upon  some 
admiring  stalwart  stranger.  Once  or  twice  he  detected 
the  flicker  of  Fancy's  smile,  a  smile  not  meant  for  him. 
He  found  that,  although  his  attention  was  all  for  Fan- 
cy, Fancy's  errant  glances  allowed  nothing  and  nobody 
to  escape  her  observation.  If  he  mentioned  any  one 
whom  he  had  seen  in  the  room,  Fancy  had  seen  him, 
or  more  often  her,  first.  Fancy  always  knew  what 
she  wore,  what  it  cost,  what  she  was  doing,  how  much 
she  liked  him  and  what  her  little  game  was. 

This  sort  of  thing  would  have  been  an  education 
for  Gay,  had  he  been  amenable  to  such  teaching;  but 
what  women  see  and  know  without  a  tutor  he  would 
and  could  never  know.  Wherefore,  such  dialogues  as 
this  were  common: 

Fancy:  "The  brute!  He's  actually  made  her  cry, 
now.  She's  a  little  fool,  though;  it's  good  enough 
for  her !" 

From  Gay:   "Where? — who  do  you  mean?" 

"Over  there  in  the  corner — don't  stare  so,  please! — 
See  those  two  fellows  and  two  girls?  The  girl  in  the 
white  waist  is  tied  up  in  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  that 
bald-headed  chap,  but  she's  dead  in  love  with  the  other 
fellow,  see  ?  Yes,  that  fellow  with  the  mustache.  My ! 
but  she's  jealous  of  the  other  girl." 

"How  can  you  tell?  Oh,  that's  all  a  pipe-dream, 
Fancy!" 

"Why,  any  fool  would  know  it — any  woman  would, 
I  mean.  She  had  a  few  words  with  him — the  fellow 
she's  stuck  on,  just  now!  He  must  have  said  some- 
thing pretty  raw.  Look  at  her  eyes!  You  can  tell 
from  here  there  are  tears  in  them.  Look!  See?  I 


134  THE    HEART    LINE 

thought  so.  She's  going  to  try  and  make  him  jeal- 
ous! What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Why,  she's  changed  places  with  him;  what's  that 
for?"  To  Gay,  the  drama  was  as  mysterious  as  a 
Chinese  play. 

"Just  to  get  him  crazy,  of  course !  That  other 
fellow  thinks  she's  really  after  him,  too.  The  other 
girl  sees  through  the  whole  game,  of  course.  My,  but 
men  are  easy!  Those  two  fellows  are  certainly  being 
worked  good  and  plenty.  Just  look  at  the  way  she's 
freezing  up  to  that  bald-headed  chap  now.  Well,  I 
never!  If  that  other  girl  isn't  trying  to  get  you  on 
the  string.  Smile  at  her,  Gay,  and  see  what  she'll  do," 

"Never  mind  about  her !"  said  Gay,  secretly  pleased 
at  the  tribute.  "You  girls  can  always  see  a  whole 
lot  more  than  what  really  happens.  She's  just  changed 
places  on  account  of  the  draught,  probably.  She  is 
lamping  me,  though,  isn't  she?  Say,  she's  a  peach, 
all  right!" 

"Yes,  she's  sure  pretty.     Say,  Gay — " 

"What?"     His  eye  returned  fondly  to  her. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  as  pretty  as  she  is?" 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired,  Fancy.  Gee!  YouVe  got 
her  sewed  up  in  a  sack  for  looks!" 

So  Fancy  played  her  game  cleverly,  keeping  Gay, 
but  keeping  him  off  at  arm's  length.  But  as  time  went 
on,  his  ardor  grew  and  she  was  often  at  her  wits'  end 
to  handle  him.  Though  free  from  any  conventional 
restraints,  she  did  not  yet  consider  her  lips  Mr.  Sum- 
mer's property,  though  she  permitted  him  a  cool  and 
lifeless  hand  upon  occasion.  In  time,  the  excitable 
youth  began  to  understand  her  reserve;  but  instead 
of  dampening  his  enthusiasm,  it  aroused  his  zest  for  the 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     135 

chase.  She  was  not  so  easy  game  as  he  had  thought. 
He  waxed  sentimental,  therefore,  and  plied  her  with 
equivocal  monologues,  hinting,  in  the  attempt  to  make 
sure  of  his  way.  At  this,  her  sense  of  humor  broke 
forth,  effervescing  in  lively  ridicule.  This  brought  Mr. 
Summer,  at  last,  to  the  point  of  an  out-and-out  pro- 
posal. Fancy,  experienced  in  such  situations,  warned 
in  time  by  his  preludes,  did  not  take  it  too  seriously. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  you  draw  a  blank,  Gay,"  shr 
informed  him  lightly.  "I'm  not  in  the  market  yet 
.Many  a  man  has  expected  me  to  become  domesticated 
at  sight,  and  settle  down  in  content  over  the  cook- 
stove.  But  I  haven't  even  a  past  yet — nothing  but  a 
rather  tame  present  and  hope  for  a  future.  I  don't 
seem  to  see  you  in  it,  Gay.  In  fact,  there's  nobody 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  at  present." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'll  cut  it  out  for  now,  as  long 
as  I  can't  make  good,  but  sometime  you'll  come  to  me 
and  beg  me  to  marry  you,  see  if  you  don't.  Whenever 
you  get  ready,  I'll  be  right  there  with  the  goods." 

Fancy  laughed  and  the  episode  was  closed. 

"Say,  Fancy,  there's  a  gang  of  artist  chaps  and 
literary  guys  I'd  like  to  put  you  up  against,"  Gay  said 
one  afternoon.  "I  think  you'd  make  a  hit  with  the 
bunch,  if  you  can  stand  a  little  jollying." 

"You  watch  me !"  Fancy  became  enthusiastically 
interested.  "Where  do  they  hang  out?" 

"They  eat  at  a  joint  down  on  Montgomery  Street. 
They're  heavy  joshers,  though.  They're  too  clever 
for  me,  mostly.  It's  the  real-thing  Bohemia  down 
there,  though." 

"Why   didn't   you   tell   me   about   it  before?"   she 


136  THE    HEART    LINE 

pouted.  "I'm  game !  Let's  float  in  there  to-night  and 
see  the  animals  feed." 

So  they  went  down  to  the  Latin  Quarter  together. 

Bohemia  has  been  variously  described.  Since  Henri 
Murger's  time,  the  definition  has  changed  retrogres- 
sively,  until  now,  what  is  commonly  called  Bohemia 
is  a  place  where  one  is  told,  "This  is  Liberty  Hall !" — 
and  one  is  forced  to  drink  beer  whether  one  likes  it 
or  not,  where  not  to  like  spaghetti  is  a  crime.  Not 
such  was  the  little  coterie  of  artists,  writers  and 
amateurs,  who  dined  together  every  night  at  Fulda's 
restaurant. 

In  San  Francisco  is  recruited  a  perennial  crop  of 
such  petty  soldiers  of  fortune.  Here  art  receives 
scant  recompense,  and  as  soon  as  one  gets  one's  head 
above  water  and  begins  to  be  recognized,  existence  is 
unendurable  in  a  place  where  genius  has  no  field  for 
action.  The  artist,  the  writer  or  the  musician  must  fly 
East  to  the  great  market-place,  New  York,  or  to  the 
great  forcing-bed,  Paris,  to  bloom  or  fade,  to  live 
or  die  in  competition  with  others  in  his  field. 

So  the  little  artistic  colonies  shrink  with  defections 
or  increase  with  the  accession  of  hitherto  unknown 
aspirants.  Many  go  and  never  return.  A  few  come 
back  to  breathe  again  the  stimulating  air  of  California, 
to  see  with  new  eyes  its  fresh,  vivid  color,  its  poetry, 
its  romance.  To  have  gone  East  and  to  have  returned 
without  abject  failure  is  here,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
vulgar,  Art's  patent  of  nobility.  Of  those  who  have 
been  content  to  linger  peaceably  in  the  land  of  the 
lotus,  some  are  earls  without  coronets,  but  one  and 
all  share  a  fierce,  hot,  passionate  love  of  the  soil. 
San  Francisco  has  become  a  fetish,  a  cult.  Under 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     137 

its  blue  skies  and  driving  fogs  is  bred  the  most 
ardent  loyalty  in  these  United  States.  San  Francisco 
is  most  magnificently  herself  of  any  American  city, 
and  San  Franciscans,  in  consequence,  are  themselves 
with  an  abounding  perfervid  sincerity.  Faults  they 
have,  lurid,  pungent,  staccato,  but  hypocrisy  is  not 
of  them.  That  vice  is  never  necessary. 

The  party  that  gathered  nightly  at  Fulda's  was  as 
remote  from  the  world  as  if  it  had  been  ensconced  on  a 
desert  island.  It  was  unconscious,  unaffected,  suffi- 
cient to  itself.  Men  and  girls  had  come  and  gone 
since  it  had  formed,  but  the  nucleal  circle  was  always 
complete.  Death  and  desertions  were  unacknowledged 
— else  the  gloom  would  have  shut  down  and  the 
wine,  the  red  wine  of  the  country,  would  have 
tasted  salt  with  tears.  There  had  been  tragedies  and 
comedies  played  out  in  that  group,  there  were  names 
spoken  in  whispers  sometimes,  there  were  silent  toasts 
drunk;  but  if  sentiment  was  there,  it  was  disguised 
as  folly.  Life  still  thrilled  in  song.  Youth  was  not 
yet  dead.  Art  was  long  and  exigent. 

It  was  their  custom,  after  dinner,  to  adjourn  to 
Champoreau's  for  cafe  noir,  served  in  the  French 
style.  In  this  large,  bare  saloon,  with  sanded  floor, 
with  its  bar  and  billiard  table,  foreign  as  France,  al- 
most always  deserted  at  this  hour  save  by  their  com- 
pany, the  genial  patron  smiled  at  their  gaiety,  as  he 
prepared  the  long  glasses  of  coffee.  To-night,  there 
were  six  at  the  round  table. 

Maxim,  an  artist  unhailed  as  yet  from  the  East,  was, 
of  all,  the  most  obviously  picturesque,  with  a  fierce 
mustached  face  and  a  shock  of  black  hair  springing 
in  a  wild  mass  from  his  head  to  draggle  in  stringy 


138  THE    HEART    LINE 

locks  below  his  eyes,  or,  with  a  sudden  leonine  shake, 
to  be  thrown  back  when  he  bellowed  forth  in  song. 
He  had  been  in  Paris  and  knew  the  airs  and  argot  of 
the  most  desperate  studies.  His  laughter  was  like  the 
roar  of  a  convivial  lion. 

Dougal,  with  a  dog-like  face  and  tow  hair,  so 
ugly  as  to  be  refreshing,  full  of  common  sense  and 
kindness,  with  a  huge  mouth  full  of  little  cramped 
teeth  and  a  smile  that  drew  and  compelled  and  cap- 
tured like  a  charm — he  sat  next.  Good  nature  and 
loyalty  dwelt  in  his  narrow  blue  eyes.  His  slow, 
labored  speech  was  seldom  smothered,  even  in  the  wit 
that  enveloped  it. 

Most  masculine  and  imperative  of  all,  was  Benton, 
with  his  blur  of  blue-black  hair,  fine  tangled  threads, 
his  melting,  deep  blue  eyes,  shadowy  with  fatigue, 
lighted  with  vagrant  dreams  or  shot  with  brisk  fires 
of  passion.  His  hands  were  strong  and  he  had  an  air 
of  suppressed  power. 

The  fourth  man  was  Philip  Starr,  a  poet  not  long 
for  San  Francisco,  seeing  that  the  Athanaeum  had  al- 
ready placed  the  laurels  upon  his  brow — he  was  as  far 
from  the  conventional  type  of  poet  as  is  possible. 
He  had  a  lean,  eager,  sharply  cut  face,  shrewd,  quick 
eye  and  sinewy,  long  fingers.  His  hair  was  close 
cropped,  his  mouth  was  tight  and  narrow.  Electricity 
seemed  to  dart  from  him  as  from  a  dynamo.  Just  now 
he  was  teaching  the  company  a  new  song — an  old 
one,  rather,  for  it  was  an  ancient  Anglo-Saxon  drink- 
ing-song, whose  uproarious  refrain  was  well  fitted 
to  the  temper  of  the  assembly. 

At  one  end  of  the  table  sat  a  young  woman,  petite, 
elf-like  as  a  little  girl,  a  brown,  cunning,  soft-haired 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     139 

creature,  smiling,  smiling,  smiling,  with  eyes  half 
closed,  wrinkled  in  quiet  mirth.  This  was  Elsie 
Dougal. 

Opposite  her  was  a  girl  of  twenty-seven,  with 
a  handsome,  clear-cut,  classic  face,  lighted  with  gray 
eyes,  limpid  and  straightforward,  making  her  seem 
the  most  ingenuous  of  all.  Mabel's  hair  curled  unman- 
ageably, springy  and  dark.  Her  face  was  serious  and 
intent  till  her  smile  broke  and  a  little  self-conscious 
laugh  escaped. 

Starr  pounded  with  one  fist  upon  the  table,  his 
thumb  held  stiffly  upright: 

"Dance,  Thumbakin,  dance!" 

he  sang,  and  the  chorus  was  repeated.  Then  with  the 
heel  of  his  palm  and  his  fingers  outstretched,  pounding 
merrily  in  time: 

"Oh,  dance  ye  merrymen,  every  one," 
then  with  his  fist  as  before : 

"For  Thumbakin,  he  can  dance  alone!" 

and,  raising  his  fists  high  over  his  head,  coming  down 
with  a  bang: 

"For 
"Thumbakin  he  can  dance  alone!" 

They  went  through  the  song  together,  dancing 
Foreman,  Middleman,  and  Littleman,  ending  in  a 
pianissimo.  Then  over  and  over  they  sang  that  queer, 
ancient  tune,  till  all  knew  it  by  heart. 


140  THE   HEART   LINE 

Benton  pulled  his  manuscript  from  his  pocket  and 
read  it  confidentially  to  Elsie,  who  smiled  and  smiled. 
Starr  recited  his  last  poem  while  Dougal  made  humor- 
ous comments.  Maxim  broke  out  into  a  French 
student's  chanson,  so  wildly  improper  that  it  took  two 
men  to  suppress  him.  Mabel  giggled  hysterically  and 
began  a  long,  dull  story  which,  despite  interruptions, 
ended  so  brilliantly  and  so  unexpectedly,  that  every 
one  wished  he  had  listened. 

Then  Dougal  called  out : 

"The  cavalry  charge  !     Ready !     One  finger !" 

They  tapped  in  unison,  not  too  fast,  each  with  a 
forefinger  upon  the  table. 

"Two  fingers!" 

The  sound  increased  in  volume. 

"Three  fingers,  four  fingers,  five !" 

The  crescendo  rose. 

"Two  hands !    One  foot !    BOTH  FEET  !" 

There  was  a  hurricane  of  galloping  fists  and  soles. 
Then,  in  diminuendo: 

"One  foot!  One  hand!  Four  fingers,  three,  two, 
one !  Halt  I" 

The  clatter  grew  softer  and  softer  till  at  last  all 
was  still. 

As  Gay  opened  the  door,  Fancy  heard  a.  roar  that 
increased  steadily  until  it  became  a  wild  hullabaloo. 
Looking  in,  she  saw  the  six  seated  about  the  table, 
the  coffee  glasses  jumping  madly  with  the  percussion. 
The  noise  was  like  the  multitudinous  charge  of  troop- 
ers. Then  the  tumult  died  slowly  away,  the  patter 
grew  softer  and  softer,  ending  in  a  sudden  hush  as 
seven  faces  looked  up  at  her.  Gay  P.  Summer's 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     141 

advent  was  greeted  with  frowns,  but  Fancy  gathered 
an  instant  acclaim  from  twelve  critical  eyes. 

She  stepped  boldly  into  the  room  and  shed  the  ra- 
diance of  her  smile  upon  the  company. 

"I  guess  this  is  where  I  live,  all  right!"  she  an- 
nounced. "I've  been  gone  a  long  time,  haven't  I? 
Never  mind  the  introductions.  I'm  Fancy  Gray, 
drifter;  welcome  to  our  fair  city!" 

They  let  loose  a  cry  of  welcome,  and  Dougal,  rising, 
opened  a  place  for  her  between  his  chair  and  Maxim's. 

"I'm  for  her!"  He  hailed  her  with  a  good-natured 
grin.  "She's  the  right  shape.  Come  and  have  coffee !" 

"I  accept!"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

Gay's  reception  was  by  no  means  as  cordial  as  hers, 
which  had  been  immediate  and  spontaneous  at  the 
sound  of  her  caressing,  jovial  voice  and  the  sight  of 
her  genial  smile,  which  seemed  to  embrace  each 
separate  member  of  the  party.  They  made  grudging 
room  for  him  beside  Elsie,  who  gave  him  a  cold  little 
hand.  Mabel  bowed  politely. 

"Where'd  you  get  her,  Gay?"  said  Starr.  "You're 
improving.  She  looks  like  a  pretty  good  imitation  of 
the  real  thing." 

"Oh,  I'll  wash,  all  right,"  said  Fancy. 

Gay  P.  proudly  introduced  her  to  the  company. 
He  played  her  as  he  might  play  a  trump  to  win  the 
seventh  trick.  Indeed,  without  Fancy's  aid,  he  would 
have  received  scant  welcome  at  that  exclusive  board. 
Many  and  loud  were  the  jests  at  Summer's  expense 
while  he  was  away.  Many  and  soft  were  the  jests 
he  had  not  wit  enough  to  understand  when  he  was 
present.  Philip  Starr  had,  at  first  sight  of  him,  dubbed 
him  "The  Scroyle,"  and  this  sobriquet  stuck.  Gay  P. 


142  THE    HEART    LINE 

Summer  was  ill  versed  in  Elizabethan  lore,  but,  had  his 
wit  been  greater,  his  conceit  would  still  have  protected 
him. 

He  had  already  unloaded  Fancy,  though  he  was  as 
yet  unaware  of  it.  She  was  taken  up  with  enthusiasm 
by  the  men,  whom  she  drew  like  a  magnet.  Mabel 
and  Elsie  watched  her  with  the  keenness  of  women 
who  are  jealous  of  any  new  element  in  their  group.  It 
was,  perhaps,  not  so  much  rivalry  they  feared,  for 
their  place  was  too  well  established,  as  the  admittance 
into  that  circle  of  one  who  would  betray  a  tendency 
toward  those  petty  feline  amenities  that  only  women 
can  perceive  and  resent. 

But  Fancy  Gray  showed  no  such  symptoms.  She 
did  not  bid  for  the  men's  attention.  She  made  a 
point  of  talking  to  Elsie,  and  she  managed  clev- 
erly to  include  Mabel  in  the  attention  she  received. 
Fancy,  in  her  turn,  scrutinized  the  two  girls  artfully 
and  made  her  own  instantaneous  deductions.  All  of 
this  by-play  was,  of  course,  quite  lost  upon  the  men. 

The  talk  sprang  into  new  life  and  Fancy's  eye  ran 
from  one  to  another  member  of  the  group,  dwelling 
longest  upon  Dougal.  His  ugliness  seemed  to  fas- 
cinate her;  and,  as  is  often  the  case  with  ugly  men, 
he  inspired  her  instant  confidence.  She  made  up  to 
him  without  embarrassment  or  concealment,  taking  his 
hairy  hand  and  caressing  it  openly.  At  this,  Elsie's 
eyelids  half  closed,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  jealousy. 
Mabel  noticed  the  act,  too,  and  her  manner  suddenly 
became  warmer  toward  the  girl.  By  these  two  fem- 
inine reactions,  Fancy  saw  that  she  had  done  well. 

They  sang,  they  pounded  the  table;  and,  as  an 
initiation,  every  man  saluted  Fancy's  cheek.  She 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     143 

took  it  like  an  empress.  Then,  suddenly,  Dougal  held 
up  two  fingers.  Every  one's  eyes  were  turned  upon 
him. 

"Piedra  Pinta?"  he  cried,  with  a  side  glance  at 
Fancy. 

Every  one  voted.  Mabel  held  up  both  her  hands 
gleefully. 

So  was  Fancy  Gray,  though  she  was  not  aware  of 
the  honor  till  afterward,  admitted  to  the  full  comrade- 
ship of  the  Pintos.  It  was  a  victory.  Many  had,  with 
the  same  ignorance  as  to  what  was  happening,  suf- 
fered an  ignominious  defeat.  Fancy's  election  was 
unanimous. 

And  for  this  once,  in  gratitude  for  his  discovery, 
Mr.  Gay  P.  Summer,  The  Scroyle,  was  suffered  to 
inflict  himself  upon  the  coterie  of  the  Pintos. 

There  were  other  honors  in  store  for  Fancy  Gray. 

Piedra  Pinta  is  two  hours'  journey  from  San  Fran- 
cisco to  the  north,  in  Marin  County — a  land  of 
mountains,  virgin  redwood  forests  and  trout-filled 
streams.  One  takes  the  ferry  to  Sausalito,  crossing 
the  northern  bay,  and  rides  for  an  hour  or  so  up  a 
little  narrow-gage  squirming  railroad  into  the  canyon 
of  Paper  Mill  Creek;  and,  if  one  has  discovered  and 
appropriated  the  place,  it  is  a  mile  walk  up  the  track 
and  a  drop  from  the  embankment  down  a  gravelly, 
overgrown  slope,  into  the  camp-ground.  Here  a  great 
crag  rears  its  vertically  split  face,  hidden  in  beeches 
and  bay  trees.  At  its  foot  a  flattened  fragment  has 
fallen  forward  to  do  service  as  a  fireplace.  Beyond, 
there  are  more  boulders  in  the  stream,  which  here 
widens  and  deepens,  overhung  by  clustering  trees. 
- 


144  THE    HEART    LINE 

Save  when  an  occasional  train  rushes  past  overhead, 
or  a  fisherman  comes  by,  wading  up-stream,  the  place 
is  secret  and  silent.  Opposite,  across  the  brook,  an 
oat-field  slopes  upward  to  the  country  road  and  the 
smooth  drumlins  beyond.  A  not  too  noisy  crowd  can 
here  lie  hugger-mugger,  hidden  from  the  world. 

To  Piedra  Pinta  that  next  Saturday  they  came, 
bringing  Fancy  Gray,  a  smiling  captive,  with  them. 
The  men  bore  blankets  and  books;  the  women  food 
and  dishes  enough  for  a  picnic  meal.  They  came 
singing,  romping  up  the  track,  big  Benton  first  with 
the  heaviest  load.  In  corduroys  and  jeans,  in  boots  and 
flannel  shirts  they  came.  Little  Elsie,  like  a  girl 
scout,  wore  a  rakish  slouch  hat  trimmed  with  live 
carnations,  a  short  skirt,  leggings,  a  sheath  knife 
swinging  from  her  belt.  Mabel  had  her  own  pearl- 
handled  revolver.  The  rest  looked  like  gipsies. 

They  slid  down  the  bank  and  debouched  with  a  shout 
into  the  little  glade.  Fancy  entered  with  vim  into 
the  celebration.  Not  that  she  did  any  useful  work, 
that  was  not  her  field ;  she  was  there  chiefly  as  a  decora- 
tion and  an  inspiration.  She  had  dressed  herself  in 
khaki.  Her  boots  were  laced  high,  her  sombrero 
permitted  a  shower  of  tinted  tendrils  to  escape  and 
wanton  about  her  forehead.  She  found  fragrant 
sprays  of  yerba  buena  and  wreathed  them  about  her 
neck. 

It  was  all  new  and  strange  to  her,  all  delightful. 
She  had  seen  the  artificial  side  of  the  town  and  knew 
the  best  and  worst  of  its  gaiety;  but  here,  in  the 
open  for  almost  the  first  time,  she  breathed  deeply  of 
the  primal  joys  of  nature  and  was  refreshed.  ,  Her 
curiosity  was  unlimited;  she  played  with  earth  and 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     145 

water,  fire  and  air.  She  unbuttoned  the  collar  of  her 
shirt-waist  and  turned  it  in,  disclosing  a  delicious  pink 
hollow  at  her  throat.  She  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  dis- 
playing the  dimples  in  her  elbows.  At  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  dinner  she  was  an  eager  spectator,  and 
when  the  meal  was  served,  smoked  and  sandy,  and  the 
bottles  were  opened,  all  traces  of  the  fairy  in  her  dis- 
appeared ;  she  was  simple  girl.  She  ate  like  a  cannibal 
and  ate  with  glee. 

The  shadows  fell.  The  nook  became  dusky,  odorous, 
moist;  the  rivulet  rippled  pleasantly,  the  ferns  moved 
lazily  in  the  night  airs.  The  moon  arose  and  gave 
a  mysterious  argent  illumination.  The  going  and 
coming  ceased,  the  shouting  and  lusty  singing  grew 
still.  The  blankets  were  opened  and  spread  at  the 
foot  of  the  rock.  Dougal  and  Elsie  took  their  places 
in  the  center  and,  the  men  on  one  side  and  the  girls 
on  the  other,  they  lay  upon  the  ground  and  wrapped 
themselves  against  the  cooling  air.  The  fire  was  re- 
plenished and  its  glare  lighted  up  the  trees  in  planes 
of  foliage,  like  painted  sheets  of  scenery. 

They  lay  down,  but  not  to  sleep.  Dougal's  coffee, 
black  and  strong,  stimulated  their  brains.  The  talk 
ran  on  with  an  accompaniment  of  song  and  jest.  One 
after  another  sprang  up  to  sing  some  old-time  tune 
or  to  recite  a  familiar,  well-beloved  poem;  the 
dialogue  jumped  from  one  to  the  other.  Some  dozed 
and  woke  again  at  a  chorus  of  laughter;  some  sat 
wide-eyed,  staring  into  the  fire,  into  the  darkness,  or 
into  one  another's  eyes. 

Maxim  was  prodigious.  He  blared  forth  rollicking 
airs,  he  did  scenes  from  La  Boheme,  posturing  pic- 
turesquely against  the  flame,  his  long  black  locks 


ia6  THE    HEART   LINE 

sweeping  his  face.  Starr  improvised  while  they 
listened,  rapt.  Benton  climbed  high  into  a  beech  tree 
and  there,  invisible,  he  recited  Cynara  and  quoted 
The  Song  of  the  Sword,  while  Dougal  jeered  and 
fed  the  blaze.  'Mabel  listened  entranced  and  appre- 
ciative, and  ventured  occasionally  on  one  more  long, 
dull 'story — her  tale  always  growing  melodramatically 
exciting,  as  the  attention  of  her  listeners  wandered. 
Elsie  sat  and  smiled  and  smiled,  wide  awake  till  three. 

Forgotten  tales,  snatches  of  song,  jokes  and  verses 
surged  into  Fancy's  head  and  one  after  another  she 
shot  them  into  the  night.  She,  too,  arose  and  sang, 
dancing.  Not  since  her  vaudeville  days  had  she  at- 
tempted it,  but  mounting  to  the  spirit  of  the  occasion, 
she  thrilled  and  fascinated  them  with  her  drollery. 

She  and  Dougal  were  the  last  ones  awake.  They 
spoke  now  in  undertones.  Maxim  was  snoring  hid- 
eously, so  was  Benton.  Starr  lay  with  his  mouth 
open,  Mabel  was  curled  into  a  cocoon  of  blankets, 
flushed  Elsie  was  still  smiling  in  her  sleep. 

At  four  the  dawn  appeared.  They  watched  it 
spellbound,  and  as  it  turned  from  a  glowing  rose  to 
straw  color,  the  birds  began  to  twitter  in  the  boughs. 
Fancy  shook  off  her  lassitude. 

"I'm  going  in  swimming,"  she  exclaimed,  starting 
up.  "Stay  here,  Dougal — I  trust  to  your  honor !" 

'Til  not  promise,"  he  replied.  "One  doesn't  often 
have  a  chance  to  see  a  nymph  bathing  in  a  fountain 
nowadays,  but  I  have  the  artist's  eye;  it  will  only  be 
for  beauty's  sake — go  ahead !"  He  kept  his  place, 
nevertheless;  the  pool  was  invisible  from  the  level  of 
the  camp-ground. 

Fancy  darted  down  the  path  to  the  wash  of  pebbles 


RISE  AND  FALL  OP  GAY  P.  SUMMER     147 

below.  Dougal  shook  Elsie  into  a  dazed  wakefulness. 
Mabel's  eyes  opened  sleepily. 

"Fancy's  gone  in  swimming,"  he  whispered.  "Don't 
wake  up  the  boys." 

Like  shadows  the  two  girls  slid  after  her.  Dougal 
lay  down  to  sleep. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  awakened  by  their  return, 
fresh,  rosy,  dewy  and  jubilant.  Elsie  crawled  to  his 
side  under  the  blankets ;  Fancy  and  Mabel  scrambled 
up  the  bank  to  greet  the  sun,  chattering  like  sparrows. 
Maxim  rolled  over  in  his  sleep.  Benton  and  Starr, 
back  to  back,  dreamed  on.  The  sun  rose  higher  and 
smote  the  languid  group  with  a  shaft  of  light.  The 
men  rose  at  last,  and,  dismissing  Elsie  from  the  camp, 
took  their  turns  in  the  pool.  At  seven  Dougal  an- 
nounced breakfast. 

At  high  noon,  after  a  climb  up  the  hill  and  an  hour 
of  poetry,  Fancy  was  crowned  queen  of  Piedra  Pinta, 
with  pomp  and  circumstance.  She  was  invested  with 
a  crown  of  bay  leaves  and,  for  a  scepter,  the  camp 
poker  was  placed  in  her  hand.  Dougal,  as  her  prime 
minister,  waxed  merry,  while  her  loyal  lieges  passed 
before  her  to  do  her  homage.  She  greeted  them  one  by 
one:  The  Duke  of  Russian  Hill,  with  his  tribute  of 
three  square  meals  per  week;  Lord  of  the  Barbary 
Coast;  Elsie,  Lady  of  Lime  Point,  Mistress  of  the 
Robes;  Sir  Maxim  the  Monster,  Court  Painter;  Sir 
Starr  of  Tar  Flat,  Laureate;  and  Mabel  the  Fair, 
Marchioness  of  Mount  Tamalpais,  First  Lady  of  the 
Bedchamber,  to  keep  her  warm. 

She  issued  many  titles  after  that,  as  her  domain  in- 
creased, and  as  "Fancy  I,"  she  always  styled  herself 


148  THE   HEART   LINE 

in  signing  her  letters.    Her  royal  edicts  were  not  often 
slighted. 

For  she  was  gay  and  young,  and  she  was  bold  and 
free.  Life  had  scarcely  touched  her  yet  with  care. 
This  was  her  apotheosis.  The  scene  went  down  in  the 
annals  of  the  Pintos  and  the  tradition  spread.  Her 
reign  was  famous.  Her  accolade  was  a  smile.  Her 
homage  was  paid  in  kisses — and  in  tears. 

Yet  Fancy  Gray  was  not  a  girl  to  commit  herself 
to  any  one  particular  set.  Her  tastes  were  eclectic. 
She  was  essentially  adventurous.  It  was  her  boast 
that  she  never  made  a  promise  and  never  broke  one — 
that  she  never  explained — that  she  liked  everybody, 
and  nobody.  She  guarded  her  independence  jealously, 
restless  at  every  restraint.  With  the  friend  of  the 
moment  she  was  everything.  When  he  passed  out  of 
sight,  she  devoted  an  equal  attention  to  the  next  comer, 
and  she  was  faithful  to  both. 

She  was  often  seen  with  Granthope  dining  or  at 
the  theater.  Mabel  and  Elsie  whispered  together, 
adding  glances  to  smiles,  and  frowns  to  blushes,  sum- 
ming them  up  according  to  the  feminine  rules  of 
psychological  arithmetic.  The  men  did  not  even  won- 
der— it  was  none  of  their  business,  and  was  she  not 
Fancy  Gray?  When  they  were  seen  together,  they 
were  conspicuously  picturesque.  Granthope  had  an 
air,  Fancy  had  a  manner,  the  two  harmonized  per- 
fectly. 

Mr.  Gay  P.  Summer,  meanwhile,  had  by  no  means 
given  up  the  chase.  He  was  not  one  to  be  easily 
snubbed,  and  the  only  effect  of  the  slight  put  upon 
him  by  the  Pintos  was  to  make  him  seek  after  Fancy 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     149 

still  more  energetically,  and  while  he  paid  court  to  her, 
to  keep  her  away  from  the  attractions  of  that  engaging 
set.  Fancy  accepted  his  attentions  with  condescension. 
After  all,  a  dinner  was  a  dinner — her  own  way  of 
putting  it  was  that  she  always  hated  to  refuse  "free 
eggs." 

He  still  tried  his  best  to  draw  her  out,  but  when 
he  asked  her  about  Granthope,  she  gave  a  passionate, 
indignant  refutation  of  his  innuendoes. 

"I  owe  that  man  everything,  everything!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "He  took  me  when  I  was  walking  the 
streets,  hungry,  without  a  cent,  and  he  has  been  good 
to  me  ever  since !  He's  all  right !  And  any  one  who 
says  anything  against  him  is  crossed  off  my  list !" 

This  was  at  Zinkand's.  The  slur  had  been  occa- 
sioned by  the  sight  of  Granthope  at  table  with  a  lady 
whom  Gay  knew  rather  too  much  about.  It  happened 
that  there  was  another  group  in  the  room  that  drew 
Fancy's  roving  eye  and  nimble  comment.  She  asked 
about  the  man  with  the  pointed  beard. 

"Oh,  that's  Blanchard  Cayley — everybody  knows 
him,"  Gay  explained.  "He's  a  rounder.  I  see  him 
everywhere.  No,  I  don't  know  him  to  speak  to,  but 
they  say  he's  a  clever  chap.  I  wonder  who  that  is  with 
him,  though?  I've  seen  her  before,  somewhere." 

"I  know,"  said  Fancy;  "that's  Mrs.  Page." 

"H'm!  Funny,  every  time  I  see  her  she's  with  a 
different  man.  She's  pretty  gay,  that  woman." 

"Is  she?    You're  a  cad  to  tell  of  it." 

"Why?    Do  you  know  her?" 

She  scorned  to  answer. 

On  a  Sunday  .night  soon  after,  Gay  invited  her  to 
dinner  at  Carminetti's.  She  accepted,  never  having 


150  THE    HEART    LINE 

gone  to  the  place,  which  was  then  in  the  height  of 
its  prestige,  a  resort  for  the  most  uproarious  spirits 
of  the  town. 

It  was  down  near  the  harbor  front,  a  region  of 
warehouses,  factories,  freight  tracks  and  desecrated, 
melancholy  buildings,  disheveled  and  squalid,  that 
Mr.  Summer  took  her.  He  pushed  open  the  door  to 
let  upon  her  a  wave  of  light  frivolity  and  the  mingled 
odor  of  Italian  oil  and  wine  permeated  by  an  under- 
current of  fried  food.  The  tables  were  all  filled,  some 
with  six  or  eight  diners  at  one  board,  and  by  the  coun- 
ter or  bar,  which  ran  all  along  one  side  of  the  room, 
there  were  at  least  a  dozen  persons  waiting  for  seats. 
Gay  walked  up  to  bald-headed  "Dave,"  the  patron, 
who  in  his  shirt-sleeves  was  superintending  the  con- 
fusion, keeping  an  eye  ready  for  rising  disorder. 
After  a  quick  colloquy,  he  beckoned  to  Fancy,  who 
followed  him  down  between  the  gay  groups  to  a 
table  in  a  corner.  It  was  just  being  deserted  by  a 
short  young  hoodlum,  with  a  pink  and  green  striped 
sweater,  accompanied  by  a  girl  several  inches  too  tall 
for  him,  dressed  in  a  soiled  buff  raglan  and  a  triumphal 
hat. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Gay;  "we're  in  luck  to  get  a 
table  at  all,  to-night.  But  I  gave  Dave  a  four-bit  piece 
and  that  fixed  it." 

Fancy  sat  down  and  looked  about.  "It  is  pretty 
gay,  isn't  it?  It  looks  as  if  it  were  going  to  be  fun." 

"Oh,  you  wait  till  nine  o'clock,"  Gay  boasted  wisely. 
"They're  not  warmed  up  to  it  yet.  The  'Dago  Red' 
hasn't  got  in  its  work.  There'll  be  something  doing, 
after  a  while." 

The  walls  were  decorated  with  beer-  and  wine-signs 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     151 

in  frames,  and  on  either  side  of  the  huge  mirror  hung 
lithographic  portraits  of  Humberto  and  the  Queen  of 
Italy.  Opposite,  a  row  of  windows  looking  on  the 
street  was  hung  with  half-curtains  of  a  harsh,  dis- 
agreeable blue;  over  them  peeped,  now  and  again, 
wayfarers  or  others  who  had  dined  too  well,  rapping 
on  the  glass  and  gesticulating  to  those  inside.  All 
about  the  sides  of  the  room  and  upon  every  column, 
hats,  coats  and  cloaks  were  hung,  making  the  place 
seem  like  an  old-clothes  shop.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  sawdust  and  the  tables  were  huddled  closely 
together. 

For  the  most  part  the  diners  were  all  young 
• — mechanics,  clerks,  factory  girls  and  the  like — 
though  here  and  there,  watching  the  sport,  were 
up-town  parties,  reveling  -in  an  unconventional 
air.  The  groups,  now  well  on  in  their  dinner,  had 
begun  to  fraternize.  Here  a  young  man  raised  his 
wine-glass  to  a  pretty  girl  across  the  room  and  the 
two  drank  together,  smiling,  or  calling  out  some  easy 
witticism.  In  one  corner,  a  party  of  eight  was  singing 
jovially  something  about:  "One  day  to  him  a  letter 
there  did  come,"  and  anon,  encouraged  by  the  applause 
and  the  freedom,  a  lad  of  nineteen,  devdid  of  collar, 
closed  his  eyes,  leaned  back  and  sang  a  long  song 
through  in  a  vibrant,  harsh  voice.  He  was  greeted 
with  applause,  hands  clapped,  feet  pounded  and 
knives  clattered  on  bottles  till  the  patron  hurried  from 
table  to  table  quelling  the  pandemonium.  Waiters 
came  and  went  in  bustling  fervor,  dodging  between  one 
table  and  another,  jostling  and  spilling  soup ;  at  inter- 
vals a  great  clanging  bell  rang  and  the  apparition  of  a 
soiled  white  cook  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door  ordering 


152  THE    HEART    LINE 

the  waiters  to :  "Take  it  away !"  The  kitchen  was  an 
arcade  into  which  from  time  to  time  guests  wandered, 
to  joke  with  the  cook  and  beat  upon  the  huge  im- 
maculate copper  kettles  on  the  wall. 

The  conversation  at  times  became  almost  general, 
the  party  of  songsters  in  the  corner  leading  in  the 
exchange  of  persiflage.  Two  girls  dining  alone,  with 
hard,  tired-looking  eyes  and  cheap  jewelry,  began  a 
duet;  instantly,  from  a  company  of  young  men,  two 
detached  themselves,  plates  and  glasses  in  hand,  and 
went  over  to  join  them.  A  roar  went  up;  glasses 
rang  again  and  Dave  fluttered  about  in  protest  at  the 
noise. 

Fancy  talked  little.  The  crowd,  the  lights,  the 
camaraderie  hypnotized  her.  She  watched  first  one 
and  then  another  group,  picking  out,  for  Gay's  edifica- 
tion, the  prettiest  girl  and  the  handsomest  man  in  the 
room.  She  waved  her  hand  slyly  at  the  collarless 
soloist  and  applauded  two  darkies  who  came  in  from 
outside  to  make  a  hideous  clamor  with  banjos.  As 
she  waited  to  be  served,  she  nibbled  at  the  dry  French 
bread  and  drank  of  the  sour  claret,  watching  over 
the  top  of  her  glass,  losing  nothing. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  Blanchard  Cayley  sat 
with  three  ladies.  One  of  them  Fancy  recognized  as 
Miss  Payson.  Fancy's  eyebrows  rose  slightly  at 
seeing  her,  and  a  smile  and  a  nod  were  cordially  ex- 
changed. The  others  Fancy  did  not  know.  They 
were  both  pretty  women,  well-dressed,  with  evident 
signs  of  breeding,  and,  as  the  fun  waxed  freer,  ap- 
parently not  a  little  embarrassed  at  being  seen  in 
such  a  place.  Miss  Payson  showed  no  such  feeling  in 
her  demeanor,  however  much  she  may  have  been 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     153 

amused  or  surprised  at  the  spirit  of  the  place.  Blanch- 
ard  Cayley  divided  his  attentions  equitably  amongst 
them,  till,  looking  across  the  room,  he  caught  Fancy's 
errant  glance.  He  smiled  at  her  openly  as  if  challeng- 
ing her  roguery. 

She  boldly  returned  the  greeting.  Gay  caught  the 
glance  that  was  exchanged. 

"See  here,  Fancy,"  he  protested,  "none  of  that  now ! 
He's  got  all  he  can  do  to  attend  to  his  own  table. 
I'll  attend  to  this  one,  myself." 

Now,  this  was  scarcely  the  way  to  treat  a  girl  like 
Fancy  Gray.  At  her  first  opportunity,  she  sent  an- 
other smile  in  Cayley's  direction.  It  was  divided,  this 
time,  by  members  of  his  own  party  and  the  women 
began  to  buzz  together.  Gay  was  annoyed. 

"There's  something  I  like  about  that  man,"  Fancy 
remarked  presently.  "What'd  you  say  his  name  was? 
That's  the  one  we  saw  at  Zinkand's,  wasn't  it?" 

"There's  something  I  don't  like  about  him.  He'd 
better  mind  his  own  business,"  Gay  growled,  now 
thoroughly  provoked. 

"You  can't  blame  any  one  for  noticing  me,  caff 
you,  Gay?"  Her  tone  was  honey-sweet. 

"I  can  blame  you  for  flirting  across  the  room  when 
you're  here  with  me !"  he  replied  fiercely. 

Fancy  opened  her  eyes  very  wide.  "Indeed?"  she 
said  with  a  sarcastic  emphasis. 

"That's  right,"  he  affirmed. 

In  answer,  she  cast  another  languishing  glance  to- 
ward Cayley.  Cayley,  despite  Clytie's  entreating  hand 
upon  his  arm,  sent  back  an  unequivocal  reply. 

"Well,"  said  Gay,  rising  sullenly,  "I  guess  it's  up 
to  me  to  leave !"  He  reached  for  his  hat. 


154  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Oh,  Gay!'*  she  protested  in  alarm,  "you're  not 
going  to  throw  me  down  before  this  whole  crowd,  are 
you  ?"  Already  their  colloquy  had  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  near-by  tables. 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "Unless  you  behave  your- 
self," he  said  finally.  His  tone  of  ownership  decided 
her. 

"Run  along,  then !"  She  gave  him  a  smile  of  limpid 
simplicity,  but  her  jaws  were  set  determinedly.  "I 
expect  I  can  get  some  one  to  take  care  of  me.  Don't 
mind  me!" 

Their  discussion  had  not  been  unnoticed  at  Mr. 
Cayley's  table.  Clytie  was  watching  the  pair  inter- 
estedly, as  if  reading  the  motions  of  their  lips.  Fancy 
caught  her  eye  and  flushed  a  little. 

Gay's  brows  gathered  together  in  a  sullen  look  as 
he  crowded  his  hat  upon  his  head  savagely.  He 
turned  with  a  last  retort: 

"You'll  be  sorry  you  threw  me  down,  Fancy  Gray! 
You  want  too  many  men  on  the  string  at  once !" 

He  turned  and  left  her,  passing  sulkily  along  the 
passages  between  the  tables  with  his  hat  on  his  head, 
till  he  came  to  the  cashier,  where  he  paid  the  bill  for 
two  dinners  with  lordly  chivalry.  Then,  without  look- 
ing back,  he  opened  the  door  of  the  restaurant  and 
went  out. 

An  instant  after,  Fancy  was  on  her  feet.  Gay's 
going  had  already  made  her  conspicuous  and  her  flush 
grew  deeper.  Cayley  watched  her  without  smiling, 
now,  waiting  to  see  what  she  would  do.  Beside  him, 
Clytie  Payson  sat  watching,  her  lips  slightly  parted, 
her  nostrils  dilated,  absorbed,  seeming  to  understand 
the  situation  perfectly,  her  eyes  gazing  at  Fancy  as  if 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     155 

to  convey  her  sympathy.  Fancy  looked  and  saw  her 
there,  and  the  sight  steadied  her.  With  all  her  cus- 
tomary nonchalance,  with  all  that  jovial,  compelling 
air  of  optimism  which  she  usually  radiated,  as  if  she 
were  quite  sure  of  her  reception  and  came  as  an  ex- 
pected guest,  she  sauntered  carelessly  over  to  the 
central  table. 

Her  smile  was  dazzling  as  it  swept  about  the  board, 
meeting  the  eyes  of  each  of  the  women  in  turn.  One 
by  one  it  subjugated  them.  They  even  returned  it 
with  trepidation,  not  too  embarrassed  to  be  keenly  ex- 
pectant, waiting  for  the  outcome.  But  it  was  for  Clytie 
that  Fancy  Gray  reserved  her  warmest,  deepest  look. 
In  that  glance  she  threw  herself  upon  Miss  Payson's 
mercy,  and  appealed  to  the  innate  chivalry  of  woman 
to  woman,  to  the  bond  of  sex — a  sentiment  in  finer 
women  more  potent  than  jealousy. 

Even  before  she  spoke  Glytie  had  arisen  and 
stretched  out  her  hand.  In  a  flash  she  had  accepted 
what  had  run  counter  to  all  her  experience,  and  played 
up  to  Fancy's  audacity  with  a  spirit  that  ignored  the 
crowd,  the  eyes,  the  whispers. 

Who,  indeed,  could  resist  Fancy  Gray  in  such  a 
fantastic,  tiptoe  mood?  Her  act,  audacious,  even  im- 
pertinent, was  so  delicately  achieved,  she  was  so  sure 
of  herself  and  her  own  charm  that  it  was  dramatic, 
poetic  in  its  confidence,  picturesque.  But  no  one  could 
have  equalled  Clytie  as  she  arose  to  meet  such  bravado, 
when  she  shook  off  her  reserves  and  took  her  hand 
at  such  a  psychological  game.  Not  even  Fancy  Gray, 
with  all  her  superb  poise.  On  Fancy's  cheek  the  color 
deepened — it  was  she  who  blushed  so  furiously,  now, 
not  Clytie.  In  that  flush  she  confessed  herself  beaten 
at  her  own  game. 


156  THE    HEART   LINE 

"How  do  you  do  ?"  Clytie  was  saying.  "We've  been 
wishing  all  the  evening  that  we  could  have  you  with 
us.  Do  sit  down,  here,  beside  me — we'll  make  room 
for  you.  I  want  you  to  meet  Miss  Gray,  Mrs.  Max- 
well." 

Something  in  the  graciousness  of  her  manner  drew 
the  other  women  up  to  her  chivalrous  -level.  Mrs. 
Maxwell  bowed,  smiled,  too,  with  a  word  of  welcome, 
so  did  Miss  Dean  as  she  was  introduced.  Fancy 
beamed.  Meanwhile  Cayley  had  arisen.  He  was 
the  most  perturbed  of  all.  He  offered  his  chair. 

"You  see  what  you've  done,  Mr.  Cayley,"  said 
Fancy.  "I've  just  been  jilted  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  and  it  was  all  your  fault.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have 
to  butt  in  and  ask  you  to  protect  me !" 

It  was  not  Fancy  but  Clytie  who  had,  apparently, 
most  surprised  him.  He  gave  a  questioning  look  at 
her  as  he  replied,  not  a  little  confused : 

"Won't  you  sit  down  here  in  my  place?  There's 
plenty  of  room.  I'll  get  another  chair — or,"  he  stole 
another  glance  at  Clytie,  "I'll  let  you  have  half  of 
mine !" 

"I  accept !"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

Clytie  smiled  encouragingly.  "I'll  divide  mine  with 
you,  too,  if  you  like." 

"You're  a  gentleman !  I'd  much  rather  sit  with  you, 
Miss  Payson ;  thank  you !"  Then  she  looked  at  Clytie 
fondly.  "I  thought  I  was  right  about  you!  You  are 
a  thoroughbred,  aren't  you?" 

"We're  educating  Mr.  Cayley,  my  dear."  Clytie 
gave  him  a  bright  smile.  "He  has  a  few  things  yet 
to  learn  about  women." 

"I  plead  guilty,"  said  Cayley,  watching  the  two 
with  curiosity. 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     157 

"Miss  Gray  and  I  are  disciples  of  the  same  school. 
She  gave  me  the  password."  Clytie  was  fairly  superb 
— she  even  outshone  Fancy — she  was  regal. 

Fancy  laughed.  "You're  the  only  one  who  knows  it, 
that  /  ever  met,  though." 

"Ah,"  said  Clytie,  "then  that's  the  only  way  I  can 
beat  you — I  believe  many  women  are  initiated." 

Fancy  clapped  her  hands  softly  in  pantomime.  Then 
she  turned  to  Mrs.  Maxwell  and  the  others.  "I  hope 
I'm  not  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire,"  she  said. 
"Please  let  me  down  easy,  ladies.  If  you  don't  make 
me  feel  at  home  pretty  quick,  I'll  be  up  against  it! 
You  don't  really  have  to  know  me,  you  know.  Only 
it  looked  to  me  like  when  he  had  three  such  pretty 
women  to  take  care  of  one  more  ought  to  be  easy 
enough." 

"We  were  .three  pretty  women  before,  perhaps,  my 
dear,  but  now  I'm  afraid  we're  only  one !"  said  Clytie. 
She  herself,  kindled  with  the  spirit  of  adventure,  and 
so  adequately  welcoming  it,  was  irresistible. 

Fancy  blew  a  pretty  kiss  at  her.  "No  man  would 
know  enough  to  say  anything  as  nice  as  that,  would 
he?  But  I'm  afraid  I  can't  trot  in  your  class,  Miss 
Payson.  Why,  every  man  in  the  room  has  been 
watching  you  all  the  evening.  I  really  ought  to  sit 
beside  Mrs.  Maxwell,  though,  to  show  her  off.  It 
takes  these  brunettes  to  make  me  look  outclassed, 
doesn't  it?  I  used  to  be  a  brunette  myself,  but  I 
reformed.  Mr.  Cayley,  you  may  hold  me  on,  if  you 
like.  And  remember,  when  I  kick  you  under  the  table 
it's  a  hint  for  you  to  say  something  about  my  hands." 
She  laid  them  on  the  table-cloth  ingenuously. 

Clytie  took  one  up  and  showed  it  to  Mrs.  Maxwell. 


158  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  prettier  wrist  than  that?**  she 
said. 

"It's  charming!  I'm  afraid  she'd  never  be  able  to 
wear  my  gloves." 

Fancy  smiled  good-temperedly.  "That  second  fin- 
ger is  supposed  to  be  perfect,"  she  said,  looking  at  it 
reflectively. 

"It's  queer  that  the  fourth  one  hasn't  a  diamond 
on  it,"  Mrs.  Maxwell  suggested  amiably. 

"It's  only  because  I  hate  to  fry  my  own  eggs.  I 
never  could  learn  to  play  on  the  cook-stove." 

"My  dear,  you'll  never  have  to  do  that,"  said  Clytie. 
"No  man  would  be  brute  enough  to  endanger  such  a 
complexion  as  you  have !" 

Fancy  rubbed  her  cheek.  "Good  enough  to  raise  a 
blush  on.  Has  it  worn  off  yet?  I  wish  you  could 
make  me  do  it  again;  I'd  rather  wear  a  good  No.  5 
blush  than  a  silk-lined  skirt." 

The  third  lady  at  the  table  was  thin  and  dark,  a 
piquante,  sharp-featured  girl,  with  a  dancing  devil  in 
her  eyes.  She  had  been  watching  Fancy  with  an 
amused  smile.  "I  thought  I'd  seen  you  before,"  she 
said.  "Now  I  remember.  You're  the  young  lady  at 
Granthope's,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  that's  my  tag.  I  suppose  I  am  entered  for  a 
regular  blue-ribbon  freak.  But  I've  seen  you,  too, 
Miss  Dean,  once  or  twice,  haven't  I  ?" 

Miss  Dean  hastened  to  say,  "Mr.  Granthope's  a 
wonderful  palmist,  isn't  he?  He  has  told  me  some  ex- 
traordinary things  about  myself."  She  held  out  her 
hand.  "Do  tell  me  what  you  think  about  my  palm, 
please!" 

But  Fancy  refused.     "Oh,  I  don't  want  to  make 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     159 

enemies,  just  as  we've  begun  to  break  the  ice.  Every 
one  would  be  jealous  of  the  other,  if  I  told  you  what 
I  saw.  Besides,  I  ought  to  be  drumming  up  more 
trade  for  Mr.  Granthope." 

"How  long  have  you  been  with  him  ?"  Cayley  asked. 

"Oh,  about  five  years." 

Clytie  bit  her  lip.    Granthope  himself  had  said  two. 

"He  has  been  fortunate  to  have  such  an  able  as- 
sistant as  you,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Frank's  been  mighty  good  to  me.  I  owe  him 
everything."  Fancy  said  it  almost  aggressively. 

Cayley  caught  Clyde's  eye,  and  he  smiled. 

"Well,  Blanchard,"  she  said,  disregarding  his  hint, 
"am  I  in  your  list  of  Improbabilities  now?" 

"You're  easily  first!  You  certainly  have  surprised 
me." 

Heretofore  Mrs.  Maxwell,  as  chaperon  of  the  party, 
had  been  the  star,  but  now  Clytie,  with  her  intuitive 
grip  on  this  human  complication,  established  Fancy 
as  the  guest  of  honor.  She  drank  Fancy's  health,  and 
Fancy's  smile  became  more  opulent  and  irresistible. 
She  kept  Fancy's  quick  retorts  going  like  fire-crackers, 
she  manipulated  the  conversation  so  that  it  came  back 
to  Fancy  at  each  digression.  She  put  Fancy  Gray  in 
the  center  of  the  stage  and  kept  her  there  in  the 
calcium  till  her  buoyant  spirits  soared. 

"Drink  with  Fancy!"  cried  Fancy  Gray,  and  the 
company,  Mrs.  Maxwell  included,  did  her  honor. 
"Drink  with  Fancy,"  she  pleaded  again,  with  a  pretty, 
infantile  pout,  and  Clytie  knocked  glasses  with  her 
every  time.  "Drink  with  Fancy,"  she  repeated,  and 
Cayley  drew  closer.  It  did  not,  apparently,  daunt 
Clytie.  She  had  accepted  Fancy  Gray  as  Fancy  Gray 


160  THE    HEART    LINE 

had  accepted  her,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  an  inch 
from  her  position.  The  talk  ran  on,  with  Fancy  always 
the  center  of  interest.  Her  sallies  were  original,  brisk, 
and  often  witty.  Fancy's  brain  grew  more  agile  and 
more  bold.  Also,  her  glances  played  more  softly 
upon  Blanchard  Cayley.  He  made  the  most  of  them, 
with  an  eye  on  Clyde,  awaiting  her  look  of  protest. 
But  it  did  not  come. 

About  them  the  revelry  still  continued  amidst  the 
clattering  of  knives  and  forks  and  dishes.  Course 
after  course  had  been  brought  on  and  removed  by  the 
hurrying,  overworked  waiters.  Once,  a  madcap  couple 
arose  to  dance  a  cake-walk  up  and  down  between  the 
tables.  Of  the  group  of  eight  singers  in  the  corner, 
three  had  fallen  into  a  mild  stupor,  three  were  af- 
fectionately maudlin;  two,  still  mirthful,  sang  noisily, 
pounding  upon  the  table. 

By  twos  and  threes,  now,  parties  began  to  leave. 

There  was  a  popular  song  swinging  through  the 
room,  accented  by  tinkling  glasses,  when  Fancy 
reached  out  her  left  hand,  and  took  Clyde's. 

"I  must  be  going,  now ;  good  night." 

Clyde  held  the  hand.  "Oh,  must  you?  Wait  and 
let  us  put  you  on  your  car,  anyway !" 

"No,  I'll  drift  along.  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  all 
right." 

She  stopped,  and,  with  her  head  slightly  tilted  to  one 
side,  looked  Clytie  in  the  eyes. 

"What  did  you  go  to  Granthope's  for?"  she  asked. 

Clytie  began  to  color,  faintly.  She  seemed,  at  first, 
at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  reply. 

Fancy  prompted  her,  "For  a  reading,  of  course — 
but  what  else?" 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     161 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Clyde  seriously.  "Really  I 
don't." 

"That's  what  I  thought!"  said  Fancy.  Then  her 
troubled  brow  cleared,  and  she  turned  to  Cayley. 

''I  must  say  'fare-thee-well,  my  Clementine,' "  she 
said.  "You  certainly  came  to  the  scratch  nobly.  I 
hope  it  wasn't  all  Miss  Payson's  prompting,  though !" 

"Next  time  I  hope  I'll  be  able  to  bring  you,"  he 
answered.  "I'm  sorry  I  can't  take  you  home  now." 

"Who  said  I  was  going  home?"  she  smiled.  Then 
she  looked  at  him,  too,  and  spoke  to  him  with  a  varia- 
tion of  the  quizzical  tone  she  had  used  toward  Clytie. 
"I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  you  that  makes 
such  a  hit  with  me — what  is  it?" 

"The  dagoes  say  I  have  the  evil  eye,"  he  replied. 

She  laughed.  "That's  it!  I  thought  it  was  some- 
thing nice !" 

Then  she  rose  and  bowed  debonairly  to  Mrs.  Max- 
well and  Miss  Dean.  "Good  night,  ladies,  this  is  where 
I  disappear.  I'm  afraid  you've  impregnated  me  with 
social  aspirations.  Watch  for  me  at  the  Fortnightly !" 

The  collarless  youth  stretched  a  glass  toward  her 
in  salutation  and  sang:  "Good-by,  Dolly  Gray!" 
There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  that  drew  all  eyes  to 
Fancy  Gray. 

Cayley  held  her  coat  for  her,  and  as  she  turned  to 
him  with  thanks,  a  sudden  mad  impulse  stirred  her; 
she  audaciously  put  up  her  lips  to  be  kissed.  He  did 
not  fail  her.  The  ladies  at  the  table  looked  on,  catch- 
ing breath,  stopping  their  talk.  A  waiter,  passing, 
stood  transfixed.  Every  one  watched.  Then  a  cheer 
broke  out  and  a  clapping  of  hands  all  over  the  restau- 
rant. 


162  THE   HEART   LINE 

Fancy  Gray  bowed  to  her  audience  with  dignity,  as 
if  she  were  on  the  stage.  Then,  with  a  comprehensive 
nod  to  her  entertainers,  she  passed  demurely  down 
the  aisle  between  the  tables.  Every  eye  followed  her. 

At  the  counter  she  turned  her  head  to  see  Blanchard 
Cayley  still  standing  by  his  place.  She  came  hur- 
riedly back  as  if  drawn  by  some  magic  spell,  blushing 
hotly,  with  a  strange  look  in  her  eyes.  She  looked 
up  at  him  as  a  little  girl  might  look  up  at  her  father. 
The  room  was  hushed.  It  was  too  much  for  that 
audience  to  comprehend.  The  act  had  almost  lost  its 
effrontery ;  the  audacity  had  become,  somehow,  pathos. 

Fancy  walked  like  a  somnambulist,  her  eyes  wide 
open,  staring  at  Blanchard.  He  had  turned  paler, 
but  stood  still,  with  his  gaze  fastened  upon  her,  revel- 
ing, characteristically,  in  a  new  sensation.  The  ladies 
in  his  party  did  not  speak.  Nobody  spoke.  The  room 
was  like  a  well-governed  school  at  study  hour,  every 
eye  fixed  upon  Fancy  Gray.  Whatever  secret  emotion 
it  was  that  drew  her  back,  it  was  for  its  moment 
compelling,  casting  out  every  trace  of  self-conscious- 
ness. She  seemed  to  show  her  naked  soul.  She 
reached  him,  and  again  he  put  his  arms  about  her 
and  kissed  her  full  on  the  lips.  Again  the  tumult 
broke  forth. 

In  that  din  and  confusion  she  slipped  back  to  the 
door.  There  was  another  hush.  Then  the  crowd 
gasped  audibly  and  tongues  were  loosened  in  a  babel 
of  exclamations.  With  a  cry,  some  one  pointed  to 
the  window.  There  stood  Fancy  Gray,  pressing 
through  the  glass,  histrionically,  one  last  kiss  to 
Cayley — and  disappeared  into  the  night.  Half  a 
dozen  men  jumped  up  to  follow  her,  and  turned  back 


RISE  AND  FALL  OF  GAY  P.  SUMMER     163 

to  account  for  a  new  silence  that  had  abruptly  fallen 
on  the  room. 

Blanchard  Cayley  was  still  standing.  He  had 
snatched  a  wine-glass  from  the  table,  and  now,  with 
a  silencing  gesture,  he  held  it  above  his  head.  He  was 
perfectly  calm,  he  had  lost  nothing  of  his  usual  ele- 
gance of  manner. 

"I  don't  know  who  she  is,  but  here's  to  her!"  he 
called  out  to  the  roomful  of  listeners.  "Bottoms-up, 
everybody !" 

He  drank  off  his  toast.  Glasses  were  raised  all 
over  the  room.  Men  sprang  upon  their  chairs,  put 
one  foot  on  the  table  and  drank  Fancy  Gray's  health. 
Then  the  crowd  yelled  again. 

In  the  confusion  Mrs.  Maxwell  leaned  to  Clytie. 
"I  don't  know,  my  dear,  whether  I'll  dare  to  chaperon 
you  here  again!"  She  herself  was  as  excited  as  any 
one  there. 

Frankie  Dean's  thin  lips  curled  in  a  sneer.  "Oh, 
they  call  this  Bohemia,  don't  they !  Did  you  ever  see 
anything  so  cheap  and  vulgar  in  your  life?  I  feel 
positively  dirty!" 

Cayley  watched  for  Clytie's  answer.  It  came  with 
a  jet  of  fervor.  "Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "don't  you 
see  it's  real?  It's  real!  It  isn't  the  way  we  care  to  do 
things,  but  they're  all  alive  and  human — every  one  of 
them !" 

"Bah!  It's  all  a  pose.  They're  pretending  they're 
devilish." 

"I  don't  care !"  Clytie's  eyes  fired.  "Even  so,  there's 
a  live  person  in  each  of  them — they're  just  as  real  as 
we  are.  I  never  understood  it  before.  Look  under 
the  surface  of  it — there's  blood  there !" 


164  THE   HEART   LINE 

"It's  San  Francisco!"  said  Cayley,  "that  explains 
everything.  Oh,  this  town!"  He  sat  down  shaking 
his  head. 

The  old  patron  bustled  excitedly  through  the  room. 

"Take-a  de  foot  off  de  table!  Take-a  de  foot  off 
de  table !"  he  protested.  "You  spoil  the  table  clot'— 
you  break-a  de  dishes!  I  don't  like  dat!  Get  down, 
you!  Get  down!" 


CHAPTER   VI 

SIDE    LIGHTS 

"Mrs.  Chenoweth  Maxwell  would  be  very  glad  to 
see  Mr.  Francis  Granthope  next  Friday  evening  at 
nine  o'clock  for  an  informal  Chinese  costume  sup- 
per. Kindly  arrive  masked." 

This  invitation  marked  a  climacteric  in  Granthope's 
social  career.  It  was  supplemented  by  an  explanation 
over  the  telephone  that  left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of 
the  palmist  as  to  the  genuineness  and  friendliness  of 
its  cordiality.  He  had  appeared  already  at  several 
assemblies  of  the  smarter  set  and  had,  by  this  time,  a 
considerable  acquaintance  with  the  fashionable  side 
of  town.  Of  the  information  thus  acquired  he  had 
made  good  use  in  his  business.  He  had  always  gone, 
however,  in  his  professional  capacity  as  a  paid  enter- 
tainer; and  no  matter  how  considerately  he  had  been 
treated,  the  fact  that  he  was  not  present  as  a  guest  had 
always  been  obvious.  He  was  in  a  class  with  the  oper- 
atic star  who  consents  to  sing  in  private  and  maintains 
hei*  delicate  position  of  unstable  social  equilibrium  with 
sensitive  self-consciousness.  In  his  rise  from  obscurity, 
at  first,  he  had  been  pleased  with  such  invitations,  seeing 
that  they  brought  him  money  and  an  increasing  fame. 
He  was  now  sought  after  as  a  picturesque  and  person- 
able character.  Women  evinced  a  fearful  delight  in 
his  presence ;  they  treated  him  sometimes  as  if  he  were 
a  handsome  highwayman,  tamed  to  drawing-room 
amenities,  sometimes  as  they  treated  those  mysterious 

165 


166  THE   HEART   LINE 

Hindus  in  robes  and  turbans  who  occasionally  ap- 
peared to  prate  of  esoteric  faiths  in  the  salons  of  the 
Illuminati. 

Granthope's  sense  of  humor  and  his  cynical  view 
of  life,  had,  so  far,  been  sufficient  to  preserve  his 
equanimity  at  the  threshold  of  fashionable  society. 
His  equivocal  position  was  tolerable,  for  he  knew  well 
enough  what  a  sham  the  whole  game  was,  and  how 
artificial  was  the  social  position  which  permitted  a 
woman  to  snub  him  or  patronize  him  in  public,  and 
did  not  prevent  her  following  him  up  in  private. 
He  had  seen  ladies  raise  their  eyebrows  at  his  appear- 
ance in  the  Western  Addition,  who  had  visited  him 
for  a  chance  to  talk  to  him  with  astonishing  egotism. 

There  was  a  strain  in  him,  however,  the  heritage 
of  some  unknown  ancestry,  that,  since  meeting  Miss 
Payson,  began  to  give  him  more  and  more  discomfort 
in  the  presence  of  such  company.  He  had  risen  above 
the  level  of  the  mere  professional  entertainer,  and  had 
become  fastidious.  Clytie  had  met  him  upon  terms  of 
equality.  Her  frankness  had  flattered  him,  and  her 
implied  promise  .of  friendship  was  like  the  opening  of 
a  door  which  had,  hitherto,  always  been  shut  to  him. 

.Mrs.  Maxwell's  bid,  therefore,  was  a  distinct  ad- 
vance, and  he  welcomed  it,  not  so  much  because  it  un- 
locked for  him  a  new  sort  of  recognition,  as  that  it 
furthered  the  game  he  had  in  hand.  He  could  scarce 
have  defined  that  game  to  himself.  He  was  playing 
neither  for  position  nor  money  nor  power — his  sport 
was  perhaps  as  purely  intellectual  as  that  of  chess,  a 
delight  in  the  pitting  of  his  mind  against  others. 

Mrs.  Maxwell,  with  the  tact  of  a  woman  of  sensi- 
bility, had  made  it  plain  to  him  that  he  was  invited 


SIDE   LIGHTS  167 

for  his  own  sake,  upon  terms  of  hospitality.  As  a 
lion,  yes,  she  could  not  deny  that.  She  confessed  that 
she  wished  to  tell  people  that  he  was  coming — but 
he  would  not  be  annoyed  by  requests  for  entertainment. 
With  another,  he  might  have  suspected  that  this  was 
only  a  subterfuge  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  paying  him 
his  price,  but  Mrs.  Maxwell's  character  was  too  well 
known  to  him  for  that  possibility  to  be  entertained. 

He  set  himself,  therefore,  to  obtain  a  costume  for 
the  affair  at  the  "House  of  Increasing  Prosperity," 
known  to  Americans  as  the  shop  of  Chew  Hing  Lung 
and  Company.  With  the  assistance  of  the  affable  and 
discerning  Li  Go  Ball,  the  only  Chinese  in  the  quarter 
who  seemed  to  know  what  he  required,  Granthope 
selected  his  outfit,  a  costume  of  the  character  worn  by 
the  more  prosperous  merchant  class  of  Celestials. 

Granthope  had  fitted  up  the  room  next  beyond  his 
studio  for  a  bed-chamber  and  sitting-room,  access  to 
it  being  had  through  the  heavy  velvet  arras  concealing 
the  door  between  the  two  apartments.  The  place  was 
severely  masculine  in  its  appointments  and  order,  but 
bespoke  the  tasteful  employment  of  considerable 
money.  Here  he  had  his  library  also,  for  since  his 
earliest  youth  he  had  been  a  great  reader.  Prominent 
on  its  shelves  were  many  volumes  of  medical  books, 
and,  to  offset  this  sobriety,  the  lives  and  memoirs  of 
the  famous  adventurers  of  history — Casanova,  Cagli- 
ostro,  Fenestre,  Abbe  Faublas,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  Sal- 
vator  Rosa,  Chevalier  d'Eon. 

A  massive  Jewish  seven-branch  candlestick  illum- 
inated the  place  this  evening,  splashing  with  yellow 
lights  the  carved  gilded  frame  of  a  huge  oval  mirror, 
glowing  on  the  belly  of  a  bronze  vase,  enriching  the 


i68  THE   HEART   LINE 

depths  of  color  in  the  dull  green  walls,  smoldering  in 
the  warm  tones  of  the  great  Persian  rug  on  the  floor, 
twinkling  upon  the  polished  surface  of  the  heavy  ma- 
hogany table  in  the  center  of  the  room.  But  it  was 
concentrated  chiefly  upon  the  gorgeous  oriental  hues 
where  his  Chinese  costume  was  flung,  flaming  upon 
the  couch.  There  the  colors  were  commingled  as  on 
an  artist's  palette,  cold  steel  blue,  pale  lemon  yellow, 
olive  green  that  was  nearly  old  gold,  lavender  that 
was  almost  pink  in  the  candle-light,  a  circle  of  red 
inside  the  cap,  and  flashes  of  pale  cream-colored  bam- 
boo paper  here  and  there. 

He  had  already  put  on  the  silken  undersuit,  a  cos- 
tume in  itself,  with  its  straight-falling  lines  and  com- 
plementary colors.  Fancy  Gray  was  helping  him  with 
the  other  garments,  enjoying  it  as  much  as  a  little  girl 
dressing  a  doll,  trying  on  each  article  herself  first  and 
posing  in  it  before  the  mirror. 

First,  she  wrapped  the  bottom  of  his  lavender 
trousers  about  his  ankles,  over  white  cotton  socks,  tying 
them  close  with  the  silk  bands,  carefully  concealing  the 
knot  and  ends  as  Go  Ball  had  instructed  him.  She 
held  the  black  boat-shaped  satin  shoes  for  him  to  put 
on.  Next  she  tied  about  his  waist  the  pale  yellow 
sash  so  that  both  ends  met  at  the  side  and  hung 
together  in  two  striped  party-colored  ends.  Then  the 
short,  padded  jacket,  and  over  all  this  the  long,  steel- 
blue,  brocaded  silk  robe,  caught  in  at  the  waist  with  a 
corded  belt.  Lastly  the  olive-green  coat  patterned 
with  brocaded  mons  containing  the  swastika,  and  with 
long  sleeves  almost  hiding  the  tips  of  his  fingers/ 
Upon  its  gold  bullet-shaped  buttons  she  hung  the 
tasseled  spectacle-case  and  his  ivory  snuff-box. 


SIDE    LIGHTS  169 

"Oh,  Frank,  I  forgot!"  said  Fancy,  as  she  paused 
with  his  wig  of  horse-hair  eked  out  with  braided  silk 
threads,  in  her  hand.  "Lucie  was  here  to-day." 

Granthope  was  at  the  mirror,  disguising  himself 
with  a  long,  drooping  mustache  and  thin  goatee.  He 
put  down  his  bottle  of  liquid  gum  and  turned  to  her. 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Why,  she  said  she  didn't  have  time  to  wait,  and 
didn't  want  to  tell  me  anything." 

"Why  didn't  she  write  ?" 

"Said  she  was  afraid  to."  You're  to  manage  some 
way  to  see  her  to-night,  if  you  can,  and  she  has  a 
tip  for  you." 

"H'm !"  Granthope,  with  Fancy's  assistance,  drew 
on  the  wig,  and  clapped  over  his  black  satin  skull- 
cap with  its  red  coral  button  atop.  Then  he  paused 
again  reflectively. 

"It  must  be  something  important.  If  I  can  only  get 
hold  of  some  good  scandal  in  this  'four  hundred' 
crowd  I  can  have  some  fun  with  'em." 

"I  should  be  afraid  to  trust  these  ladies'  maids ;  they 
might  give  you  away  any  time,  and  then  where'd  you 
be?  That  would  be  a  pretty  good  scandal,  itself." 
Fancy  shook  her  head. 

"Aren't  they  all  in  love  with  me?"  he  said,  smiling 
grimly. 

Fancy  looked  dubious.  "That's  just  the  trouble. 
'Hell  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorned/  " 

Granthope  now  laughed  outright.  "Fancy,  when 
you  get  literary  you're  too  funny  for  words." 

She  bridled,  stuck  out  her  little  pointed  tongue  at 
him,  and  walked  into  the  front  office,  where  she  sat 
down  to  attend  to  some  details  of  her  own  work.  At 


170  THE    HEART    LINE 

last  she  finished  her  writing  and  went  to  the  closet  to 
put  on  her  hat  and  jacket. 

"Oh,  Frank!"  she  called  out. 

"Yes,  Fancy!" 

"You  don't  think  I'm  jealous,  do  you?" 

"Yes !"  he  laughed. 

She  appeared  at  the  doorway  and  called  again: 

"Mr.  Granthope!"  He  was  busy,  and  did  not  an- 
swer. 

"Mr.  Granthope!" 

He  looked  up,  now,  to  see  her  put  her  thumb  to  her 
nose  with  a  playfully  derisive  gesture,  such  as  gamins 
use. 

He  put  his  head  back  and  laughed. 

Then  she  looked  at  him  seriously,  saying,  "When 
I  am,  you'll  never  know  it.  I'm  not  afraid  of  ladies' 
maids.  When  you  really  get  into  your  own  class  it 
will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  worry.  But  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  use  those  girls.  They're  all  cats,  and  they'll 
scratch !" 

She  was  standing  before  the  mirror  inside  the 
closet  door,  with  her  hat  pin  between  her  lips,  adjust- 
ing her  toque  to  the  masses  of  her  russet  hair,  when 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  hall  door.  She  looked  round 
and  raised  her  eyebrows,  then,  after  closing  the  door 
to  the  anteroom  of  the  studio,  she  called  "Come  in !" 

Madam  Spoil,  in  a  black  silk  gown  covered  with  a 
raglan,  entered.  She  wore  a  man's  small,  low-crowned, 
Derby  hat  trimmed  with  a  yellow  bird's  wing. 

"How  d'you  do?"  said  Fancy,  not  too  cordially. 

"Good  evening,"  Madam  Spoil  panted;  then,  as 
her  breath  was  spent  with  climbing  the  stairs,  she 
dropped  into  a  chair  and  gasped  heavily.  Fancy  went 


SIDE   LIGHTS  171 

on  with  her  preparations  without  further  attention  to 
her  visitor. 

"Frank  in?"  was  Madam  Spoil's  query  as  soon  as 
she  could  breathe. 

"Meaning  Mr.  Granthope  ?"  said  Fancy  airily. 

"You  know  who  I  mean  well  enough!"  was  her 
pettish  reply. 

"Oh,  do  I  ?" — and  Fancy,  her  costume  now  in  readi- 
ness for  the  street,  walked  jauntily  into  the  anteroom 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  "Madam  Spoil  is  here  to 
see  you,"  she  called  out. 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  answered. 

Fancy,  pulling  her  jacket  behind,  wriggling,  and 
smoothing  down  her  skirt  over  her  hips,  walked  to  the 
window  and  cast  a  glance  out.  Then  she  slammed  the 
drawers  of  her  desk,  put  a  hair-pin  between  the  leaves 
of  her  novel,  straightened  her  pen-holders  on  the  stand, 
stoppered  a  red-ink  bottle,  and  marched  out  without 
looking  to  the  left  or  to  the  right. 

Madam  Spoil  glared  at  her  in  silence  till  she  had 
gone;  and  then,  with  an  agility  extraordinary  in  so 
stout  a  woman,  she  sprang  to  the  closet,  opened  the 
door  and  picked  up  an  envelope  lying  on  the  floor. 
It  had  been  opened.  She  took  the  letter  out,  gave  it 
a  hurried  glance  and  then  returned  to  her  seat,  stuffing 
the  paper  up  under  her  basque. 

The  letter  was  short  enough  for  her  practised  eye 
to  master  the  contents  almost  at  a  glance.  It  ran : 

My  dear  Mr.  Granthope : — I  hope  you  didn't  take  offense 
at  my  frankness  the  other  day — if  I  was  too  candid  don-'t 
misinterpret  it  and  my  interest  in  you.  Sometime  I  may  ex- 
plain it  more  intelligently,  but  for  the  present  believe  me  to 
be,  Your  friend,  CLYTIE  PAYSON. 


172  THE    HEART   LINE 

Granthope  came  out  after  she  had  concealed  the 
note.  He  was  fully  dressed  and  almost  unrecognizable 
in  his  costume.  He  walked  gracefully,  with  the  light- 
footed  stride  of  a  mandarin,  and  saluted  her  with  mock 
gravity.  Madam  Spoil  stared  at  him  with  her  mouth 
open.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  appear  to  know  him. 
Then  she  chuckled. 

"For  the  land's  sakes,  what  are  you  up  to  now, 
Frank?  Doing  the  Chinese  doctor's  stunt  and  selling 
powdered  sea-horses?" 

He  laughed  at  her  surprise.  "No,  I'm  doing  soci- 
ety," he  explained. 

"Do  'em  good,  then!  Lord,  you  are  a-butting  in 
this  time,  ain't  you !  I  wouldn't  know  you  from  a  Sam 
Yup  highbinder  on  a  Chiny  New  Year  in  that  rig! 
What  is  it,  a  fancy-dress  ball  at  the  Mechanics'  Pavil- 
ion?" 

"Worse  than  that,"  he  laughed;  "this  is  a  private 
supper-party  in  costume  and  I  am  a  guest." 

"Lord,  you  are  getting  on,  for  fair!  You  ain't 
been  conning  them  swell  girls  for  nothing,  have  you? 
And,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  always  thought  you  was 
after  something  very  different.  I  was  kind  of  afraid 
they'd  spoil  you,  too.  It's  a  good  graft,  Frank,  and 
if  I  can  do  anything  to  give  you  a  lift,  just  say 
the.  word." 

"Thanks,"  he  said  dryly,  taking  a  seat  in  front  of 
her  and  pulling  his  long  sleeves  up  to  his  wrist. 

She  kept  her  eyes  upon  him,  as  if  fascinated  by  the 
gorgeousness  of  his  costume,  seemingly  a  little  in  fear 
of  his  elegant  manners  as  well.  Then  she  broke  out, 
pettishly : 

"Say,  Fancy's  getting  pretty  fresh,  seems  to  me. 


SIDE   LIGHTS  173 

She's  a  very  different  girl  from  what  she  was  when  she 
used  to  play  spook  for  us.  She  was  glad  enough  once 
to  be  polite — Gutter  wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth  them 
days !" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  mind  Fancy ;  she's  all  right  when 
you  get  used  to  her." 

"She's  pretty,  if  she  is  sassy/'  the  medium  acknow- 
ledged. "I  can  hardly  blame  you,  Frank.  I  s'pose 
you  find  a  good  use  for  her.  She  seems  to  be  pretty 
fond  of  you." 

Granthope  scowled.  "Never  mind  about  her.  She's 
a  great  help  to  me  here,  and  I  like  her — that's  enough 
for  you.  You  didn't  come  here  to  talk  about  Fancy 
Gray." 

"I  should  think  your  ladies  would  object,  though," 
the  medium  pursued.  "It  looks  kind  of  funny,  don't 
it?  She  stays  here  pretty  late,  it  seems  to  me,  if  any 
one  was  to  notice  it.  Some  ladies  don't  like  that  sort 
of  thing;  they  get  jealous.  Fancy's  too  pretty  by 
half!" 

"That'll  be  about  all  about  Fancy  Gray.  Suppose 
we  change  the  subject." 

"Very  good  then ;  we'll  change  it  to  another  girl 
that's  as  pretty.  How  would  Miss  Payson  do  to  talk 
about?" 

"What  about  her?" 

.  "A  whole  lot  about  her.    How  are  you  getting  along 
with  her,  for  the  first  thing  ?" 

Granthope  smiled  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  but 
contented  himself  with  remarking,  "Oh,  I'm  getting 
on  all  right.  I  can  attend  to  my  own  end  of  the  game, 
thank  you.  I've  handled  women  before." 

"More  ways  than  one,  eh?" 


174  THE    HEART    LINE 

"She's  not  that  kind.    Don't  you  believe  it !" 

"Then  what,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  are  you  doing 
with  her!"  Madam  Spoil  gave  her  words  a  playful 
accent  that  he  resented.  Then  she  added,  more  seri- 
ously: "Frank,  d'you  know,  I  believe  you  could  marry 
that  girl.  If  you  have  changed  yourself  enough  to  like 
that  kind,  you  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse. 
She'd  give  you  a  good  stand-in  with  the  Western 
Addition,  too.  And  we  might  help  you  out  a  bit ;  who 
knows!  I  can  see  all  sorts  of  things  in  it,  just  as  it 
stands." 

"I  haven't  begun  to  think  of  anything  like  that,"  he 
replied  carelessly. 

"Of  course  not.  I  know  well  enough  what  you  was 
thinking  of.  But  you  take  my  advice  and  don't  spoil  a 
big  thing  for  a  little  one.  Work  her  easy  and  you 
can  land  her.  That's  better  a  good  sight  than  playing 
with  her  in  your  usual  way." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out, 
vaguely  annoyed.  He .  turned,  in  a  moment,  to  ask, 
"Has  the  old  man  made  a  will  ?" 

"D'you  mean  to  say  you  ain't  found  that  out  yet? 
Lord,  Frank,  you  are  getting  slow.  I  don't  know.  I 
ain't  come  to  that  yet.  But  if  he  ain't,  I'll  see  that  he 
does  make  one,  and  that's  where  I  can  look  out  for 
your  interests." 

There  was  a  slight  sneer  on  his  face.  "Oh,  don't 
trouble  yourself.  I've  my  own  system,  you  know.  I 
haven't  made  many  breaks  yet.  It's  likely  that  I  can 
help  you  more  than  you  can  me.  That  reminds  me ; 
you  might  take  these  notes.  It's  about  all  I  have  got 
from  the  girl  so  far.  They  may  come  in  handy." 

He  went  to  his  desk,  took  a  couple  of  cards  from  3 


SIDE   LIGHTS  175 

tin  box  in  the  top  drawer,  and  handed  them  to  Madam 
Spoil.  She  looked  them  over  interestedly. 

"Much  obliged.  H'm !  So  she  thinks  she's  a 
psychic,  does  she  ?  They  might  be  something  in  that. 
Supposed  to  be  engaged  to  B.  Cayley.  Well,  you'll 
have  to  fix  him,  won't  you !  Father  writing  a  book — 
ah!  That's  just  what  we  want.  Say,  that's  great! 
Me  and  Vixley  will  work  that  book,  don't  you  worry ! 
Wears  a  ring  with  'Clytie'  inside.  Turquoises.  Mole 
on  left  cheek.  Goes  to  Mercantile  Library  three  to 
five.  Sun-dial  with  doll  buried  under  it.  That's 
funny.  I  wish  it  was  papers,  or  something  important — 
I  don't  see  what  we  could  do  with  a  doll,  do  you? 
Still,  you  never  can  tell.  All's  generally  fish  that 
comes  to  my  net.  I've  known  stranger  things  than 
dolls.  Making  a  birthday  present  of  a  hand-bound 
volume  of  what?  Montaigne?  What's  that?  Say, 
what's  this  about  Madam  Grant,  anyway?" 

He  turned  to  her  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
card,  now  distinctly  impatient.  "I  don't  know — that 
is,  I  forgot  I  put  that  on.  There's  nothing  there  that 
will  help  you,  I  guess.  You'd  better  let  me  have  it 
back,  after  all.  It's  chiefly  about  Miss  Payson,  any- 
way, and  that  isn't  your  business." 

Madam  Spoil  refused  to  return  the  card.  Instead, 
she  tucked  it  into  the  front  of  her  dress,  saying,  "Oh, 
I  don't  know.  You  never  know  what  may  be  useful. 
It's  well  to  be  prepared." 

"See  here ;.  you  understand  that  you're  to  keep  your 
hands  off  Miss  Payson,"  said  Granthope  with  empha- 
sis. "She's  my  game.  Do  what  you  like  with  the  old 
man,  but  leave  me  alone,  that's  all !" 

"Don't   you    fret    yourself   about   that.      Ain't   we 


176  THE    HEART   LINE 

worked  together  before,  for  gracious  sakes?  I  guess 
I  can  mind  my  own  business !" 

The  palmist  walked  over  to  the  fireplace,  ctood  lean- 
ing against  the  mantel  and  kicked  the  fender  medita- 
tively, somewhat  disturbed  by  Madam  Spoil's  presence. 
He  had  seen  Miss  Payson  only  twice,  yet  he  had 
already  come  to  the  point  where  he  was  annoyed  to 
hear  her  so  cold-bloodedly  discussed,  and  his  own 
heartless  notes  quoted.  Even  less  could  he  enjoy  think- 
ing of  so  fine  and  delicate  a  creature  in  the  toils  of 
Vixley  and  Spoil.  No,  she  was  for  his  own  plucking. 
She  was  a  quarry  well  worth  his  chase.  To  share  his 
plans  with  such  vulgar  plotters  seemed  to  cheapen 
the  prize,  to  rub  off  the  bloom  of  her  beauty  and 
charm.  He  would  play  a  more  exquisite,  a  more 
subtle  game.  It  would  not  do,  however,  to  break 
with  the  mediums.  They  were  still  useful  to  him,  in 
spite  of  his  assertion  of  independence.  They  knew, 
besides,  altogther  too  much  about  him  for  him  to  dare 
to  kindle  their  resentment. 

If  Madam  Spoil  had  noticed  his  detachment  she  did 
not  show  it.  She  herself  had,  evidently,  been  thinking 
something  over,  and  now  she  interrupted  his  medita- 
tion. 

"Say,  Frank,  about  that  old  Madam  Grant,  now — 

"She  wasn't  so  old,  was  she?" 

"How  d'you  know  she  wasn't?" 

He  covered  his  mistake  as  well  as  he  could  with: 
"Oh,  I've  heard  she  was  a  young  woman,  not  more 
than  thirty,  when  she  died." 

"Well,  it's  so  far  back,  it  seems  as  though  she  must 
have  been  old.  You  know  I  fished  a  little  with  what 
you  give  me  about  her  and  Payson;  putting  that 


SIDE    LIGHTS  177 

together  with  what  Lulu  Ellis  got,  I  believe  I  can  work 
him.  Funny  you  happened  on  that  bit.  Did  the  Pay- 
son  girl  tell  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  got  it  —  she  let  it  out  in  a  way.    You  know." 

Madam  Spoil  chuckled.  "Lord,  they  tell  us  more'n 
we  ever  tell  them,  don't  they!  But  I  was  saying:  I 
wish  I  could  find  out  more  about  that  little  boy  Madam 
Grant  used  to  keep.  I  wonder  was  he  her  son,  now  ?" 

"I  suppose  you  might  find  out  something  if  you 
looked  up  the  files  of  the  Chronicle  "- 

"That's  a  good  idea.  I'll  do  it.  D'you  know  what 
year  it  was?" 


"How  d'you  know?" 

He  walked  away  from  her  carelessly,  replying: 
"That's  the  idea  I  got  of  it.  About  that  time." 

"Frank,"  she  said,  "ain't  you  ever  got  any  clue  to 
who  you  are,  yet?  Never  got  any  hint  at  all?" 

"Never." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  some  real  sure-enough 
psychie  ?  They  might  help.  I've  known  'em  to  do  won- 
derful things." 

Granthope  gazed  at  her  and  laughed  loud.  "You?" 
was  all  he  could  say. 

She  drew  herself  up.  "Yes,  me!  Sure.  Why,  you 
don't  think  I  consider  they  ain't  no  genuine  ones,  even 
if  I  do  fake  a  little,  do  you?" 

"You  actually  believe  there's  a  medium  alive  that 
can  tell  such  things?" 

"I'm  positive  of  it.  Why,  when  I  begun,  I  give 
some  remarkable  tests  myself.  I  used  to  get  names, 
sometimes.  But  there  are  straight  ones.  Not  here, 
maybe,  but  in  New  York.  You  could  send  a  lock  of 
your  hair." 


i;8  THE   HEART   LINE 

He  went  up  to  her  and  clapped  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  still  laughing.  "You're  beautiful,  my  dear; 
you're  positively  beautiful!" 

She  turned  a  surprised  face  to  him.  "What  in  the 
world  d'you  mean?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  walked  away.  "Preserve 
your  illusions !  It's  too  wonderful.  I'll  be  believing 
in  palmistry,  next.  I'll  believe  myself  in  love,  after 
that.  And  then — I'll  believe  I'm  honest,  dignified, 
honorable,  modest!"  His  tone  grew,  word  by  word, 
more  hard  and  cynical.  Then  he  turned  to  her  with  a 
whimsical  expression:  "So  you  believe  your  doll's 
alive!" 

"I've  no  time  to  talk  nonsense  any  longer!"  she 
exclaimed,  rising  ponderously.  "I  can't  make  you  out 
at  all,  Frank.  Sometimes  you're  practical  as  insurance 
and  sometimes  you're  half  bug-house.  Maybe  it's  them 
clothes!"  She  regarded  him  carefully. 

He  bowed  to  her  with  mock  courtesy,  spreading  his 
fan. 

"Lord,  you  do  look  like  a  fool  in  that  Chink's  rig. 
Have  a  good  time  with  'em — but  keep  your  eyes  and 
your  ears  open!" 

She  went  out. 

He  was  about  to  turn  out  the  electric  lights  and 
leave,  when  he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  and  saw  the  little  freckled-face  girl  who  had  come 
to  his  office  the  day  he  had  first  met  Clytie  Payson. 
He  recognized  her  instantly,  but  she,  seeing  him  so 
extraordinarily  disguised,  drew  back  in  surprise. 

"Did  you  want  Mr.  Granthope?"  he  asked. 

"Yes !"  She  finally  made  him  out,  but  still  gazed 
at  him,  somewhat  frightened.  Her  face  was  bloodless. 


SIDE   LIGHTS  179 

"Come  in,"  he  said  kindly.  "I'm  Granthope.  You'll 
have  to  excuse  this  costume."  He  set  a  chair  for  her, 
but  she  stood,  timidly  regarding-  him. 

"I'm  awfully  afraid  I'm  bothering  you,  Mr.  Grant- 
hope,  coming  so  late — I  know  I  ought  to  have  come 
in  your  office  hours,  but  I  couldn't  possibly  get  off — 
and  I  did  want  to  see  you  awfully!  D'you  suppose 
you  could  help  me  a  little,  now  ?  I  thought  you  might 
be  able  to,  you  said  such  wonderful  things  when  I 
was  here  before,  and  I  just  can't  stand  it  not  to  know, 
and  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Do  sit  down.    Tell  me  what's  the  matter,  my  dear." 

She  crept  into  a  chair,  and  sat  with  nervous  hands, 
staring  at  him. 

"Why,  don't  you  remember?"  She  gazed  at  him  in 
alarm.  "Oh,  I've  depended  so  on  what  you  said — it's 
all  that  kept  me  going!" 

"Just  pardon  me  a  moment,  please."  He  went  to 
his  desk  drawer  and  began  to  fumble  over  his  card 
catalogue.  "I  have  a  memorandum  to  make.  Then 
I'll  talk  to  you."  He  came  to  the  card,  and  made  a 
penciled  note  and  glanced  it  over.  Then  he  returned 
to  her  and  sat  down.  "Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he 
said  gravely.  "I  remember  perfectly,  of  course.  Bill 
was  in  the  Philippines,  wasn't  he?  You  hadn't  heard 
from  him  for  some  time,  and  you  were  expecting  him 
home  on  the  next  transport?" 

She  sat,  limply  huddled  in  her  chair,  gazing  at  him 
through  her  sad  eyes. 

"He  did  come  back.  I  couldn't  meet  the  boat.  I 
missed  him.  And  now  he's  gone !" 

"He  didn't  let  you  know  where  he  went?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Granthope,  it's  too  awful!     I  can't  bear 


i8o  THE   HEART   LINE 

it,  but  I  could  stand  anything  if  I  could  only  find  him ! 
You  must  find  him  for  me." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  my  dear.  Your  hand  shows 
that  it  will  all  come  out  for  the  best.  I  wouldn't 
worry." 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know!  You  don't  know  how 
bad  it  is !"  she  moaned.  "I  thought  you  might  know. 
He  was  wounded  in  a  battle." 

"But  he  came  back?" 

"Yes."  Then  she  burst  into  a  hurried  torrent  of 
words.  "He  didn't  want  me  to  know.  He  was  shot 
in  the  face — his  nose  was  shot  off — it's  awful — some 
of  the  men  told  me  about  it.  Bill  was  ashamed  to 
have  me  see  him — he  tried  to  make  me  think  he  wasn't 
in  love  with  me  any  more,  so  I'd  go  away.  But  I 
knew  better.  Bill's  so  proud,  Mr.  Granthope,  you 
don't  know  how  proud  he  is !  He'd  rather  leave  me 
than  make  me  suffer.  But  what  do  I  care  for  his  nose 
being  gone  ?  Why,  Bill's  a  hero !  He  had  more  nerve 
than  Hobson,  anyway !  Just  because  he  was  the  only 
man  in  his  company  that  dared  to  go  through  a 
swamp,  under  fire,  to  save  his  lieutenant — and  he 
brought  him  in  on  his  back,  Bill  did!  Why,  Bill's 
father  was  killed  at  Antietam,  but  Bill's  luck  was  a 
heap  worse  than  that !  He  has  to  live  without  a  face 
and  be  despised  and  sneered  at  because  he  did  his 
duty!  Oh,  if  I  can  only  find  him,  I'll  give  him  some- 
thing that  will  make  him  forget.  Don't  I  love  him  all 
the  more  for  it?  He's  tried  to  sacrifice  his  whole  life 
and  happiness  only  for  me — just  to  save  me  from 
suffering  when  I  look  at  him.  D'you  know  many  men 
who'd  do  that  for  a  girl  ?  I  don't !" 

She  broke  down  and  sobbed  convulsively.    The  story 


SIDE   LIGHTS  181 

seemed  to  Granthope  like  a  scene  from  a  play,  and 
his  inability  to  comfort  her  smote  him  while  she 
fought  to  restrain  her  tears. 

"And  you  can't  find  out  where  he  is?" 

"No.  The  company  was  mustered  out,  and  Bill  just 
naturally  disappeared.  Nobody  knows  where  he  is. 
I've  asked  all  his  officers,  and  all  the  men  I  could  find." 

He  took  her  hand  and  looked  at  it  soberly  for  a 
moment. 

"It  will  all  come  out  right,  my  dear.  You  trust  me. 
There's  your  line  of  fate  as  clean  as  a  string.  I  see 
trouble  in  it,  but  only  for  a  little  while.  You'll  be 
married,  too.  You  must  have  patience  and  wait,  that's 
all.  Suppose  you  come  back  and  see  me  in  a  week  or 
so,  and  tell  me  if  you've  heard  any .  news  of  him. 
Meanwhile,  I'll  see  what  I  can  find  out  myself.  There's 
a  cross  in  your  hand — that's  a  good  sign.  Bill  still 
loves  you,  and  he  won't  let  you  suffer  long." 

He  felt  the  pitiful  emptiness  of  his  words,  but  he 
had  been  too  affected  by  her  narrative  to  give  her  the 
smooth  banalities  that  were  always  ready  to  his 
tongue.  She  got  up  and  looked  at  him  through  her 
tears. 

"You  have  helped  me,  Mr.  Granthope.  Somehow 
I  knew  you  could.  I'll  be  in  again  sometime.  How 
much  is  it,  please  ?" 

"My  dear  girl,  when  you  come  again,  you  can  thank 
the  young  lady  whom  you  saw  here  before.  Don't 
thank  me." 

She  looked  at  him  silently,  then  she  took  his  hand 
and  shook  it  very  hard.  "You  mean  that  lady  with 
red  hair  who  sits  at  the  desk?" 

"Yes." 


i&5  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I  liked  her  when  I  saw  her.     She  was  nice  to  me 
Is — is  she  Mrs.  Granthope?'' 

Granthope  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

The  girl  blushed  at  her  indiscretion.  "I  kind  of 
thought — she  seemed  to  be,  well,  fond  of  you.  I  mean, 
the  way  she  looked  at  you,  I  didn't  know  but  what 
you  were  married.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me."  She 
was  visibly  confused,  and  evidently  had  said  much 
more  than  she  had  intended. 

"My  dear,"  Granthope  replied,  "she's  far  too  good 
for  me !" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  slowly,  as  she  rose  to  go. 
A  smile  struggled  to  her  face  as  if,  for  the  first  time, 
she  noted  the  incongruity  of  the  palmist's  costume, 
then,  with  a  grateful  look  she  went  out. 

As  soon  as  he  had  left,  Granthope  sat  down  at  the 
desk  and  wrote  a  note  upon  a  memorandum  pad.  It 
read: 

Fancy — 

To-morrow  morning  please  go  down  to  the  ticket  office  at 
the  Ferry,  and  see  if  you  can  find  out  where  a  soldier,  with 
his  nose  shot  off,  bought  a  ticket  to,  about  ten  days  ago. 

He  rose,  yawned,  stared  thoughtfully  at  the  casts 
for  a  few  moments,  then  snapped  his  fingers  and 
walked  to  the  window.  His  cab  was  waiting.  He  went 
down-stairs,  got  into  the  vehicle  and  drove  off. 

The  Maxwells  lived  at  Presidio  Heights,  in  one  of 
the  newer  residences  of  the  aristocratic  Western 
Addition,  a  handsome  brick  house  decorated  with 
Romanesque  fantasies  in  terra  cotta,  behind  a  bronze 
rail  guarded  by  heraldic  griffins.  Granthope  walked 


SIDE   LIGHTS  183 

up  under  the  lantern-hung  awning  five  minutes  before 
the  hour  and  was  shown  to  a  room  up-stairs. 

Here  there  were  several  men  waiting  and  adjusting 
their  garments.  All  but  one  were  in  Chinese  costume ; 
this  was  a  fat,  red-faced  man,  with  a  white  mustache. 
He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  kept  exclaiming: 

"I  won't  make  a  damned  fool  of  myself  for  anybody. 
It's  all  nonsense!"  He  was  obviously  embarrassed  at 
being  the  only  nonconformist. 

"Sully"  Maxwell,  arrayed  in  a  magnificently  em- 
broidered Chinese  officer's  summer  uniform — a  long, 
flounced  robe,  with  the  imperial  dragons  and  their 
balls  of  fire,  the  rainbow  border  and  the  all-over 
cloud-pattern — was  helping  the  men  to  dress,  chaffing 
each  of  them  in  turn.  He  was  middle-aged  and  pros- 
perous-looking, typically  a  "man's  man"  and  "hail- 
fellow-well-met,"  despite  his  immense  fortune.  He 
greeted  Granthope  cordially,  without  hint  of  patron- 
age, and  introduced  him  to  the  others. 

Of  two,  Keith  and  Fernigan,  Granthope  had  heard 
much.  They  were  the  pets  of  a  certain  smartish  social 
circle,  in  virtue  of  their  cleverness  and  wit.  They 
were  of  the  kind  who  habitually  do  "stunts"  and  were 
always  expected  to  make  the  company  merry  and  in- 
formal. Keith  was  a  tall,  wiry,  flap-eared,  smiling 
fellow,  made  up  as  a  Chinese  stage-comedian,  with  his 
nose  painted  white.  Fernigan,  short,  stout  to  rotund- 
ity, almost  bald,  with  spectacles,  and  a  round,  Irish 
face,  was  dressed  in  woman's  costume,  head-dress,  ear- 
rmg"s>  green  coat  and  pink  silk  trousers.  He  was 
naturally  droll,  a  wag  at  all  times,  and  his  whimsical 
way  constantly  approached  a  shocking  limit  but  never 
quite  reached  it.  He  was  sneaking  a  good  parody 


184  THE    HEART    LINE 

of  the  Cantonese  dialect  to  his  partner,  and  making 
eccentric  gestures. 

Both  he  and  Keith  greeted  Granthope  with  mock 
gravity;  addressing  him  in  pidgin  English.  Granthope 
answered  with  what  spirit  he  had,  and,  taking  his 
place  at  the  mirror,  placed  upon  his  nose  an  enormous 
pair  of  blue-glass  spectacles,  horn-rimmed.  They  dis- 
guised him  effectually. 

As  he  left  the  room,  a  man  with  a  pointed,  reddish 
beard  entered,  dressed  in  long  flowing  robes  of  plum- 
colored  silk. 

Granthope  caught  the  greeting :  "Hello,  Blan !"  and 
turned  with  curiosity  to  see  the  Mr.  Cayley  of  whom 
he  had  heard  so  much.  He  did  not,  however,  wait 
to  be  introduced,  but  passed  on. 

The  great  reception-room  down-stairs  presented  one 
of  the  most  beautiful,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most 
original,  of  San  Francisco  interiors.  It  was  entirely 
of  redwood,  panels  six  feet  in  width  all  round  the 
walls  extending  up  to  a  narrow  shelf  supported  by 
carved  brackets.  The  low-studded  ceiling  was  broken 
by  a  row  of  finely  adzed  beams,  carved  tastefully  at  the 
ends.  A  feature  of  the  reception-room  was  a  wide 
fireplace  of  terra  cotta  surmounted^  by  a  mantel,  con- 
sisting of  at  least  a  dozen  combined  moldings,  each 
member  of  which  showed  a  striking  individuality  of 
detail.  The  place  was  illuminated  by  side  brackets 
in  the  form  of  copper  sconces.  Granthope  entered, 
quite  at  his  ease,  with  a  long,  swinging,  heel-and-toe 
stride  that  comported  well  with  his  costume. 

There  were  already  some  half-dozen  persons  sitting 
about  the  room,  most  of  whom  seemed  afraid  to  talk 
for  fear  of  disclosing  their  identity,  or  perhaps,  a  little 


SIDE   LIGHTS  185 

too  self-conscious  in  their  garish  raiment.  The  silence, 
if  it  had  not  been  painful,  would  have  been  absurd. 
Granthope  looked  in  vain  for  any  sign  of  his  hostess' 
presence,  and  then  suspecting  that  she,  too,  was  masked 
to  enjoy  the  piquancy  of  the  situation,  he  saluted  one  of 
the  ladies,  sat  down  beside  her  and  began  a  conversa- 
tion. Knowing  that  few  were  acquainted  with  him  he 
had  no  need  to  disguise  his  voice.  He  sat  on  a  straight 
chair  stiffly,  as  he  had  seen  Chinese  actors  pose  at  the 
theater,  his  toes  turned  out  in  opposite  directions  so  as 
to  insure  the  proper  fall  of  the  skirt  of  his  robe,  and 
disclose,  through  a  narrow  gap,  the  splendor  of  his 
lavender  trousers.  His  partner  answered  him  in  whis- 
pers. 

As  he  sat  talking  nonsense  gaily,  a  woman  came 
into  the  room  with  so  perfect  an  imitation  of  the 
"tottering  lily"  walk  affected  by  high-caste  Chinese 
women,  that  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  in  delight 
at  her  acting. 

She  was  of  a  good  height ;  and  her  white  embroid- 
ered shoes,  whose  heels  were  placed  in  the  center  of 
the  sole,  gave  her  nearly  two  inches  more.  Her  cos- 
tume was  a  rainbow  of  subdued  contrasting  colors.  It 
was  evident  at  a  glance  that  every  garment  she  wore 
was  old,  valuable  and  consistent  with  her  character  of 
bride. 

The  smoothly  coiled  rolls  of  her  black  wig  were 
decorated  by  numerous  gold  ornaments  and  artificial 
flowers.  Across  her  forehead  was  a  head-dress  of  gold 
filigree-work  and  kingfisher  feathers;  its  ribbon  was 
tied  in  the  back  of  her  head  and  fell  in  fanciful  ends. 
She  wore  two  coats — the  outer  was  of  yellow  brocaded 
silk,  a  pastel  shade,  trimmed  with  a  wide  stripe  of 


186  THE   HEART   LINE 

close  blue  embroidery  and  rows  of  looking-glass  but- 
tons— the  inner  one,  shorter,  was  of  blue  and  black 
appliqued  work  in  bold,  virile  pattern.  Below  this 
showed  her  closely-pleated  skirt  of  old  rose  with  a  panel 
of  gold  embroidery  in  the  center;  this,  as  she  walked, 
revealed  occasional  glimpses  of  a  pair  of  full  straight 
green  trousers  trimmed  with  horizontal  stripes,  and 
a  flash  of  white  silk  stockings.  Necklaces  she  had  in 
profusion,  one  of  jade,  one  of  purple  mother-of-pearl, 
one  of  white  coral,  one  of  sandalwood;  and  others  in 
graded  sizes  and  colors.  In  her  right  hand  she  carried 
a  narrow  gold-paper  fan;  on  her  left  wrist  was  a  jade 
bracelet,  and,  pulled  through  it,  a  green  silk  handker- 
chief with  a  purple  fringe. 

Her  entry  made  a  sensation,  as  she  courtesied  grave- 
ly to  each  one  in  turn.  So,  playing  her  part  cleverly, 
she  came  to  Granthope,  who  arose  and  greeted  her  with 
a  dignified  salaam.  So  far  they  were  the  only  ones  who 
had  at  all  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and 
he  did  his  best  to  meet  her  character  and  play  up 
to  her  elaborate  salutation.  He  offered  his  arm,  then, 
and  escorted  her,  with  considerable  manner,  to  a  long 
settee. 

In  all  this  pantomime  she  had  preserved  a  serious 
expression,  the  repressed,  almost  inanely  impassive, 
set  face  of  a  Chinese  lady  of  rank;  but  when  at  last 
she  was  seated,  she  turned  full  upon  him  and  smiled 
under  her  mask. 

The  effect  upon  Granthope  was  a  sudden  thrill  of 
overpowering  delight.  He  was  deliciously  weakened 
by  the  revelation.  His  breath  came  suddenly,  with  a 
swift  intake — the  blood  rioted  through  his  veins. 

She  wore  a  much  wider  mask  than  the  others,  so  that 


SIDE   LIGHTS  18; 

nothing  but  her  mouth  and  chin  was  shown.  But  that 
mouth  was  so  tempting,  with  its  ravishing,  floating 
smile,  and  that  smile  so  concentrated  in  its  limitation 
to  a  single  feature,  that  it  turned  his  head.  The  lips 
were  narrow  and  bright;  the  blood  seemed  about  to 
ooze  through  the  skin.  The  upper  one  was  curved  in 
a  tantalizing  bow  between  the  drops  of  soft  shadow 
at  the  corners.  The  cleft  above  seemed  to  draw  her 
lip  a  little  upward  to  disclose  a  line  of  small,  perfect, 
regular  teeth  of  a  delicate,  bluish  white  translucence, 
which,  parting,  showed  a  narrow  rosy  tongue.  The 
lower  lip  was  that  delicious  fraction  of  an  inch  lesser 
than  the  upper  one  which,  in  profile,  gave  her  a  touch 
of  youthful,  almost  boyish,' wistfulness.  Her  round, 
firm  chin  showed,  from  the  same  point  of  view,  a 
classic  right  angle  to  her  throat,  where  the  line  swept 
down  the  proud  column  of  her  neck,  there  to  swing 
tenderly  outward  toward  her  breast. 

He  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her,  but  he  had  not 
the  will  to  restrain  his  staring.  The  spell  was  irre- 
sistible ;  he  drank  her  deep  and  could  not  get  enough. 
For  these  whirling  moments  he  was  at  the  mercy  of 
the  attraction  of  sex,  impersonal,  yet  distilled  to  an 
intoxicating  essence.  Had  it  not  been  for  her  mask 
hiding  the  upper  part  of  her  face,  had  her  eyes  cor- 
rected this  almost  wanton  loveliness  with  some  reserve 
or  with  the  effect  of  a  more  intellectual  character,  had 
his  glance  even  been  given  a  chance  to  wander  over 
equally  enchanting  components  of  that  expression,  he 
undoubtedly  would  not  have  been  so  moved  by  the 
sight  of  her  laughing,  tempting  mouth.  But  that, 
faultlessly  formed,  exquisitely  sexed,  whimsically  prov- 
ocative, had  for  him,  with  the  rest  of  her  face  hidden, 


188  THE   HEART   LINE 

an  original  and  freshly  flavored  delight.  In  the  spec- 
trum of  her  beauty  the  violets  and  blues  of  her  spirit, 
the  greens  and  orange  of  her  mind  were  for  the  nonce 
inhibited;  only  the  vibrant  red  rays  of  her  physical 
personality  smote  him,  burning  him  with  their  radi- 
ance. But  there  was,  he  felt,  no  malice  behind  that  smile, 
though  it  was  mischievous ;  there  was  nothing  wanton 
there,  though  in  this  guise  her  lips  seemed  abandoned 
and  inviting.  There  was,  in  their  flexed  contour,  in 
the  engaging  mobility  of  their  poise,  no  consciousness 
of  anything  sensually  appealing.  It  was,  rather,  as  if 
he  gained  some  secret  aspect  of  the  woman  beneath 
and  behind  all  conventions  of  morality,  of  modesty, 
and  of  discretion.  So  far,  indeed,  she  seemed,  in  a 
way,  without  a  personality.  She  was  Woman  smiling 
at  him.  The  vision  was  too  much  for  him. 

She  bent  toward  him  and  her  lips  whispered: 
"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Granthope?     Why  are  you 
staring  so?     I  thought  of  course  you  knew  me — but 
I  really  believe  you  don't." 

Even  then  he  did  not  recognize  her,  and  was  pro- 
foundly embarrassed.  That  he  should  fail  to  remem- 
ber such  a  mouth  as  that!  He  took  her  hand  which 
had  been  concealed  in  her  long  sleeve  and  looked  at 
it.  She  had  glued  long  false  nails  of  celluloid  to  her 
little  fingers,  completing  the  picture  of  a  Chinese  lady 
of  quality.  At  the  first  sight  of  her  palm,  at  the  first 
touch  of  it,  even,  he  knew  her,  and,  with  a  rush,  a  dozen 
thoughts  bewildered  him.  This  was  she  whom  he  had 
been  able  so  to  influence,  to  cajole.  He  had,  in  a  way, 
a  claim  to  this  comeliness.  She  had  favored  him,  had 
confessed  her  interest  in  him.  They  were,  besides, 
bound  by  a  secret  tie.  He  might  hope  for  more  of  her, 


SIDE   LIGHTS  189 

perhaps.  She  was  already  somewhat  in  his  power; 
he  had,  at  least,  the  capacity  to  sway  her.  She, 
alluring,  delightful,  might  perhaps  be  gained,  and  in 
some  way,  won.  She  had  known  him  at  a  glance — 
there  was  her  prescience  again !  She  had  welcomed 
him,  in  assurance  of  her  favor.  What  then  was  pos- 
sible ?  What  dared  he  not  hope  for  ?  A  great  wave  of 
desire  overcame  him. 

Meanwhile  he  answered,  distracted  and  unready : 

"You  knew  me  then?  I  thought  I  was  pretty  well 
disguised." 

"Oh,  you've  forgotten  how  hard  it  is  to  deceive  me. 
I  should  never  try  it,  if  I  were  you.  Of  course  I  knew 
you!  I  should  know  you  if  you  had  covered  your 
head  in  a  sack." 

He  stammered,  and  he  was  not  often  confused 
enough  to  stammer.  "I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you 
how  beautiful  you  are,  Miss  Payson." 

She  spoke  low  and  slowly,  with  a  wayward  inflec- 
tion, "Oh,  I'm  so  sorry."  Then  she  added,  "I  scarce- 
ly dared  speak  to  you,  you  are  so  magnificent." 

"I  would  need  to  be,  to  be  worthy  of  sitting  beside 
you,"  he  replied,  his  wits  floating,  unmanageable. 

"Did  you  get  my  note  ?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  it." 

"I  hope  you've  forgiven  me." 

"Of  course,  I  was  only  flattered  by  your  frankness." 

"It's  so  easy  to  be  frank  with  you,"  she  said.  "You 
see,  I'm  perfectly  myself  with  you,  even  en  masque. 
I  doubt  if  any  of  my  friends  would  know  me  as  I  am 
with  you." 

"But  I've  seen  a  new  'y°u'  that  I  haven't  known 
before." 


190  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Then  she  owes  her  existence  to  your  presence. 
But  how  am  I  different?  Tell  me." 
'  "You  take  my  breath  away.  You  say  such  charm- 
ing things  to  me  that  it  deprives  me  of  the  power  of 
answering  you — anything  I  could  say  seems  ineffec- 
tive and  cheap.  You  get  ahead  of  me  so.  Really, 
you'll  have  to  be  positively  rude  to  me  before  I  can 
summon  presence  of  mind  enough  to  say  anything 
gallant." 

Again  her  lips  curved  daintily.  Her  voice  was 
dulcet : 

"Then  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  hear  any  nice 
things  from  you." 

He  was  reduced ;  bafHed  by  her  suavity.  He  sought 
in  vain  for  a  fitting  return.  He  had  the  impulse 
to  take  advantage  of  her  courtesy,  however,  and  grat- 
ify some  portion  of  his  desire  to  be  nearer  her.  She 
wore,  suspended  from  the  gold  top-button  of  her 
"qua,"  a  red  silk  tassel  with  a  filigree  network  of 
silver  threads,  containing  a  gold  heart-shaped  scent 
bottle.  He  reached  to  it  and  tried  to  remove  it  from 
its  place,  covering  this  slight  advance  jocosely,  with 
the  remark: 

"Is  that  your  heart  you  have  there?  It  seems  to 
be  pure  gold." 

She  did  not  resent  what  might  possibly  have  been 
considered  a  familiarity,  but  smiled  when  she  saw  that 
he  could  not  remove  the  bottle  from  the  meshes. 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  be  able  to  get  at  it,  that  way." 
There  was  a  touch  of  playful  emphasis  in  her  voice. 

Their  hands  met  as  she  assisted  him,  showing  him 
how  to  pull  up  the  sliding  ring  and  open  the  net. 
At  that  contact  he  became  a  little  giddy.  The  blood 


SIDE   LIGHTS  191 

surged  to  her  cheeks.  She  took  out  the  bottle  and 
handed  it  to  him.  That  moment  was  tense  with  feel- 
ing. Then  she  said,  as  he  tried  in  vain  to  unstopper 
the  little  jar: 

"Can  you  open  it,  do  you  think?" 

He  attempted  futilely  to  open  the  little  heart. 
"I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  he  said  disconsolately.  "Won't 
you  help  me?" 

"No,  you  must  do  it  yourself.  There  is  a  way — 
see!" 

She  took  it  from  him  and,  concealing  it  in  her 
hand,  opened  the  top  and  reached  it  out  for  him  to 
smell.  He  whiffed  a  penetrating  perfume,  disturb- 
ingly pungent,  then  she  withdrew  it  from  him  and 
closed  the  heart. 

"May  I  take  it?"  he  asked. 

She  returned  it  now,  saying,  and  her  smile  was 
more  serious  than  before,  "Learn  to  open  it.  There 
is  a  way." 

Granthope  took  the  heart  and  tried  to  master  its 
secret.  The  room  had  by  this  time  filled  up  so  that 
a  further  tete-a-tete  was  impossible.  Miss  Payson 
was  now  besieged  by  maskers  and  held  court  where 
she  sat.  Fernigan,  the  stout  young  man  with  the 
powdered  face,  dressed  as  a  woman,  was  particularly 
offensive  to  Granthope,  and  especially  so  because  it 
could  not  be  denied  that  his  antics  and  sallies  were 
witty. 

Granthope  arose  therefore,  and  walked  about  the 
room  looking  for  some  one  whom  he  might  recognize. 
There  was  little  likelihood  of  his  succeeding  had  not 
his  professional  capacity  given  him  a  clue  to  follow. 
He  passed  from  one  group  to  another,  bowing,  ges- 


192  THE   HEART   LINE 

ticulating  and  joking,  as  all  had  now  begun  to  do, 
keeping  his  eyes  alertly  on  the  hands  of  different 
members  of  the  assembly.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
suspected  Mrs.  Page,  and,  after  reassuring  himself 
by  closer  inspection,  he  went  up  to  her. 

She  was  as  expensively  dressed  as  Clytie,  but  with- 
out Clytie's  taste.  Mrs.  Page's  magnificence  was 
barbaric,  untamed  to  any  harmony  of  color,  though 
effective  in  its  very  violence.  She  had  not  left  her 
diamonds  at  home.  She  blazed  in  them.  Tall,  dark, 
well-formed  and  deep-breasted,  not  even  the  loosely 
hanging  folds  of  a  Chinese  costume  could  hide  the 
luxuriance  with  which  Nature  had  endowed  her  fig- 
ure. She  was  laughing  with  abandon,  reveling  in  the 
freedom  of  the  moment,  when  Granthope  touched  her 
on  the  shoulder  and  whispered: 

"Violet!" 

She  turned  to  him  and  stared,  puzzled  by  his  well- 
disguised  face. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I  know  more  about  you  than  any  one  here!" 

"Good  heavens !"  she  laughed,  "what  do  you  know 
about  me?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Not  here,  for  mercy's  sake!  Don't  give  me  away 
in  respectable  society,  please.  Come  out  in  the  hall 
where  we  won't  be  eavesdropped." 

She  took  his  arm  energetically  and  romped  him  out 
to  the  staircase.  The  masks  and  costumes  had  let 
loose  all  her  folly.  She  effervesced  in  giggles. 

"Let's  go  up-stairs  in  the  library,"  she  proposed. 
"We  have  the  run  of  the  house  to-night,  and  nobody'll 
be  there.  I  want  to  see  if  I  can't  guess  who  you  are. 


SIDE  LIGHTS  193 

I  haven't  the  least  idea  who  you  are,  but  I  believe 
you're  going  to  be  nice." 

She  tapped  him  on  the  cheek  playfully  with  her 
fan,  then  picked  up  her  skirts  and  ran  up-stairs,  giv- 
ing him  a  glance  of  red  silk  hose,  as*  she  went.  He  was 
still  quivering  with  the  excitement  of  Clyde's  smile, 
still  warm  from  her  nearness,  still  full  of  her,  though 
he  would  not  share  her  wholesale  glances  to  her 
throng  of  admirers.  He  was  still  rapt  with  the  exhil- 
aration her  smile  had  kindled,  he  still  held  her  little 
perfumed  heart.  As  he  followed  Mrs.  Page  up-stairs 
he  smelt  again  of  the  gold  bottle.  The  fragrant  odor 
fired  him  anew.  He  grew  perfervid. 

Mrs.  Page,  unmasked,  was  awaiting  him  in  the 
library. 

When  they  came  down  ten  minutes  later,  he  made 
way  to  where  Clytie  sat,  talking  to  the  gentleman 
with  the  reddish  pointed  beard  and  plum-colored  gar- 
ments. Seeing  Granthope  approach,  she  turned  to  her 
companion,  saying: 

"Would  you  mind  getting  me  a  glass  of  water, 
Blanchard?  This  mask  is  fearfully  warm.  I  hope 
we  won't  have  to  keep  them  on  much  longer." 

Cayley  left  to  obey  her  and  Granthope  took  his 
place  by  her  chair.  She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and 
said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"I  think  you  had  better  give  me  back  my  scent- 
bottle,  please." 

A  pang  smote  him.  He  felt  the  shock  of  reproach 
in  her  voice,  knowing  what  she  meant  immediately, 
though  he  rallied  to  say,  faint-heartedly1: 

"Why,  I  haven't  learned  how  to  open  it  yet." 


194  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  never  learn."  She  did  not  look 
at  him. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  summoning  all  his 
courage.  "I  thought  you  had  given  it  to  me." 

She  kept  her  eyes  away  from  him.  "If  I  did,  I  must 
ask  it  back,  now." 

Perturbed  as  he  was  by  this  new  proof  of  her 
intuition,  he  refused  to  admit  it.  After  all,  it  might 
have  been  merely  her  quick  observation.  At  any 
rate,  he  would  make  another  attempt  to  pit  his  clever- 
ness against  her  sapience. 

"Oh,  we  only  went  up  to  see  Mr.  Maxwell's  books. 
He  has  a  first  edition  of  Montaigne  there."  He  was 
for  a  moment  sure  that  she  was  only  jealous. 

She  bent  her  calm  eyes  upon  him.  There  was  no 
weakness  in  her  mouth,  though  it  seemed  more  lovely 
in  its  tremulous  distress.  The  upper  lip  quivered 
uncontrolled ;  the  lower  one  fell  grieving,  as  she  said : 

"I  asked  nothing.  I  want  only  honesty  in  what  you 
do  tell  me." 

This  time  he  was  fairly  amazedo  The  hit  was  dead- 
ly. He  dared  not  suspect  that  she  had  taken  a  chance 
shot.  He  was  too  humbled  to  attempt  any  denial, 
knowing  how  useless  it  would  be  in  the  face  of  her 
discernment.  Yet  she  had  showed  nothing  more  than 
disapproval  or  distress.  Her  reproof  could  scarcely 
be  called  an  accusation,  and  her  chivalry  touched  him. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  will  think  of  me,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I've  heard  so  much  worse  of  you  than  that," 
she  said,  "and  it  hasn't  prevented  my  wanting  to  be 
friends  with  you.  I  hope  only  that  you  will  never 
misinterpret  that  friendliness.  You  don't  think  me 
bold,  do  you?" 


SIDE   LIGHTS  195 

"I  wish  you  were  bolder." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  my  capacity  yet.  But,  really, 
do  you  understand?  It's  that  feeling,  you  know,  that 
in  some  way  we're  connected,  that's  all.  It's  unex- 
plainable,  and  I  know  it's  silly  of  me.  I'm  not  trying 
to  impress  you." 

"But  you  are !" 

In  answer,  she  smiled  again,  and  again  that  flood 
of  delight  came  over  him  rendering  him  unable,  for 
a  moment,  to  do  anything  but  gaze  at  her.  Luckily 
just  then  Cayley  returned  with  a  glass  of  water;  at 
the  same  time,  the  order  was  given  by  Mrs.  Maxwell 
to  unmask. 

Clytie  drew  off  her  visor  immediately.  As  Grant- 
hope  watched  her  he  felt  the  quality  of  his  excitement 
change,  transmuted  to  a  higher  psychic  level.  Some- 
how, with  her  whole  face  revealed,  with  her  serene 
eyes  shining  on  him,  he  was  less  in  the  grip  of  that 
craving  which  had  held  him  prisoner.  It  fled,  leav- 
ing him  more  calm,  but  with  a  deepened,  more  vital  de- 
sire. The  completed  beauty  of  her  face  now  thrilled 
him  with  a  demand  for  possession,  but  the  single  note 
of  passion  was  richened  to  a  fuller  chord  of  feeling. 
The  mole  on  her  cheek  made  her  human,  and  almost 
attainable. 

That  feeling  gave  him  a  new  and  potent  stimulus,  as, 
under  his  hostess'  direction,  he  offered  Clytie  his  arm 
into  the  supper-room,  and  took  a  place  beside  her. 
It  buoyed  him  with  pride  when  he  looked  about  at  the 
gaily  clad  guests  and  noticed,  with  a  quickened  eye, 
the  distinction  of  her  face  and  air,  comparing  her  with 
the  others.  That  dreamy,  detached  aspect  in  which 
he  had  seen  her  before  had  given  way  now  to  a  fine 


196  THE   HEART   LINE 

glow  of  excitement  which  stirred  her  blood.  How  far 
she  responded  to  his  enthusiasm  he  could  not  tell ;  she 
was,  at  least,  inspired  with  the  novelty  of  the  scene — 
the  gaudy  dresses,  the  warm  red  lights  of  monstrous 
paper  lanterns,  the  odors  of  burning  joss-sticks,  the 
table,  flower-bedecked  and  set  out  with  strangely  dec- 
orated dishes,  and  the  monotonous,  hypnotic  squeak 
and  clang  and  rattle  of  a  Chinese  orchestra  half-way 
up  the  stairs. 

All  trace  of  her  annoyance  had  gone  from  her  now, 
and  that  unnamable,  untamed  spirit,  usually  dormant 
in  her,  had  retaken  possession  of  her  body.  She  was 
more  jubilantly  alive  than  he  had  thought  it  possible 
for  her  to  be.  He  dared  not  attribute  her  animation 
to  his  presence,  however,  gladly  as  he  would  have 
welcomed  that  compliment.  It  was  the  spell  of 
masquerade,  no  doubt,  that  had  liberated  an  unusual 
mood,  emboldening  her  to  show  those  nimble  flashes 
of  gallantry.  At  any  rate,  that  revelation  of  her 
under-soul  was  a  piquant  subject  for  his  mind  to  think 
on ;  there  was  an  evidence  of  temperament  there  which 
tinctured  her  fragile  beauty  with  an  intoxicating  sug- 
gestion. It  was  a  sign  of  unexpected  depths  in  her, 
a  promise  of  entrancing  surprises. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  lacked  the  audacity 
to  woo  a  woman  boldly.  There  had  never  been  enough 
at  stake  before  to  make  him  count  his  chances.  There 
had  been  everything  to  win,  nothing  to  lose.  Women 
had  solicited  "his  favor,  but  there  was  something  differ- 
ent in  Clytie's  approaches  toward  familiarity.  She 
spoke  as  with  a  right-royal  and  secure  from  suspicion, 
with  a  directness  which  of  itself  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  take  advantage  of  her  complaisance.  He 


SIDE  LIGHTS  197 

was  put,  in  spite  of  himself,  upon  his  honor  to  prove 
himself  worthy  of  her  confidence.  There  was,  besides, 
a  social  handicap  for  him  in  her  assured  pbsition — he 
could  see  what  a  place  she  held  by  the  treatment  she 
received  from  every  one — while  he  was  in  his  novitiate 
at  such  a  gathering,  newly  called  there,  his  standing 
still  questionable.  But,  most  of  all,  to  make  their 
powers  unequal,  was  his  increasing  fear  of  her  as  an 
antagonist  with  whom  he  could  not  cope  intellectually. 
He,  with  all  his  clever  trickery  and  his  practical  know- 
ledge of  psychology,  was  like  a  savage  with  bow  and 
arrow ;  she,  with  her  marvelous  intuition,  like  a  god- 
dess with  a  bolt  mysteriously  and  dangerously  effect- 
ive. 

Already  his  instinct  accepted  this  relation,  but  his 
brain  was  still  stubborn,  seeking  a  refuge  from  the 
truth.  He  was  to  have,  even  as  he  sat  there  with 
her,  another  manifestation. 

*  Clytie  sat  at  his  left  hand.  Mrs.  Page,  at  his  right, 
had  been  assigned  to  the  bald,  red-faced  gentleman 
with  white  mustache,  who  had  so  profanely  refused 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself  by  wearing  a  Chinese  cos- 
tume. His  sprightly,  flamboyant  partner  was  ill- 
pleased  with  her  lot.  She  proceeded  to  spread  an 
airy  conversational  net  for  Granthope,  endeavoring 
to  trap  him  into  her  dialogue,  with  such  patent  art 
that  every  woman  at  the  table  noticed  her  tactics. 

Granthope,  however,  shook  her  off  with  a  smile  and 
a  joke,  as  if  she  were  an  annoying,  buzzing  fly.  Still 
she  hummed  about  him,  leaving  her  partner  to  him- 
self and  his  food.  However  clever  and  willing  Grant- 
hope  might  have  been,  ordinarily,  at  such  an  exchange 
of  persiflage,  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  parry  her 


198  THE   HEART   LINE 

thrusts  and  at  the  same  time  keep  up  with  Clytie. 
But  she,  noticing  Mrs.  Page's  game,  was  mischievous 
enough,  or,  perhaps,  annoyed  enough,  to  give  the  wom- 
an her  chance  and  submit  to  a  trial  of  strength.  So, 
as  if  to  give  Granthope  the  choice  between  them,  she 
turned  to  her  left-hand  neighbor,  Fernigan,  who,  in  his 
female  costume,  had  kept  that  end  of  the  table,  by  his 
wit,  from  interfering  with  her  colloquy. 

Granthope  was  in  a  quandary,  fearing  to  be  inex- 
tricably annexed.  Mrs.  Page  at  this  moment  increased 
his  dilemma  by  casting  a  languishing  look  at  him  and 
pressing  his  foot  with  hers  under  the  table. 

All  that  was  flirtatiously  adventurous  in  him  boiled 
up;  for  Mrs.  Page  was,  in  her  own  way,  a  beauty, 
and,  as  he  had  reason  to  know,  amiable. 

He  drew  away  his  foot,  however,  and  as  he  did  so, 
gave  a  quick  inward  glance  at  himself,  wondering,  and 
not  a  little  amused,  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place 
in  him.  Novelty  is,  in  such  dalliance,  a  prime  factor 
of  temptation — it  was  not  a  lack  of  novelty,  however, 
which  made  her  touch  unwelcome,  for  he  was,  in  his 
relations  with  the  woman,  at  what  would  be  usually 
a  parlous  stage.  He  had  already  been  gently  reproved 
for  his  weakness — but  it  was  not  the  smart  of  that 
disapproval  that  withheld  him.  He  had  begun  to  fear 
Clytie's  vision — yet  he  was  not  quite  ready  to  admit 
her  infallible.  His  self-denial,  then,  was  indicative  of 
an  emotional  growth.  He  smiled  to  himself,  a  little 
proud  of  the  accompaniment  of  its  tiny  sacrifice. 

Clytie,  turning  to  him,  rewarded  him  with  a  smile, 
and,  leaning  a  little,  said  under  her  breath : 

"I'm  so  glad  that  you  find  me  more  worth  your 
while." 


SIDE   LIGHTS  199 

He  could  but  stare  at  her.  Mrs.  Page  was  quick 
enough  to  see,  if  not  hear,  what  had  happened;  she 
turned  vivaciously  to  the  gentleman  in  evening  dress. 

Granthope  exclaimed,  "You  knew   that?" 

"Ah,  it  is  only  with  you  that  I  can  do  it."  She 
seemed  to  be  more  confused  at  the  incident  than  he. 
"I  know  so  much  more  than  I  ever  dare  speak  of," 
she  added. 

This  did  not  weaken  her  spell. 

She  continued :  "Do  you  remember  what  you  said, 
when  you  read  my  palm,  about  my  being  willing  to 
make  an  exaggerated  confession  of  motives,  rather 
than  seem  to  be  hypocritical,  or  unable  to  see  my  own 
faults?" 

He  did  not  remember,  but  he  dared  not  say  so. 
He  waited  a  fraction  of  a  second  too  long  before  he 
said: 

"Certainly  I  remember." 

She  looked  hard  at  him  and  mentally  he  cowered 
under  her  clear  gaze.  Then  her  brows  drew  slightly 
together  with  a  puzzled  expression,  as  if  she  wondered 
why  he  should  take  the  trouble  to  lie  about  so  small 
a  matter.  But  this  passed,  and  she  did  not  arraign  his 
sincerity. 

"Well,  what  I  want  you  to  know  now  is  that  I 
don't  consider  myself  any  better — than  she  is.  Do  you 
know  what  I  mean  ?  I  don't  condemn  her.  Oh,  dear, 
I'm  so  inarticulate !  I  hope  you  understand  !" 

"I  think  I  do,"  he  answered,  but  he  could  not  help 
speculating  as  to  the  definiteness  of  her  perception. 
She  answered  his  question  unasked. 

"I  get  things  only  vaguely — that's  one  reason  why 
I  could  not  judge  a  person  upon  the  evidence  of  my 


200  THE   HEART   LINE 

intuition — I  couldn't  tell  you,  for  instance,  exactly 
what  happened  between  you  two  just  now.  I  know 
only  that  I  was  disturbed,  and  that  you,  somehow, 
reassured  me." 

"But  you  were  more  precise  about  what  happened 
up-stairs."  He  was  still  at  a  loss  to  fix  her  limitations. 

"Oh,  there  I  pieced  it  out  a  little.  Shall  I  confess? 
I  knew  you  well  enough  to  fill  in  the  picture.  I  know 
something  of  her,  too." 

"Witch!" 

"You're  a  wizard  to  make  me  confess !"  she  replied, 
brightly  shining  on  him.  "I  don't  often  speak.  It's 
usually  very  disagreeable  to  know  so  much  of  people 
• — indeed,  I  often  combat  it  and  refuse  to  see.  But 
with  you  it's  different." 

"It's  not  disagreeable?" 

"No,  it  is  disagreeable  usually.  It  makes  me  feel 
priggish  to  mention  it,  too,  but,  with  you,  the  impulse 
to  speak  is  as  strong  as  the  revelation  itself;  that's 
the  strangest  part  of  it." 

This  confession  gave  him  a  new  sense  of  power,  for 
he  saw  that,  sensitive  as  was  her  intuition,  he  con- 
trolled and  appropriated  it.  It  had  already  occurred  to 
him  what  splendid  use  he  might  make  of  her,  com- 
pelling such  assistance  as  she  could  render.  Vistas 
of  ambition  had  opened  to  his  fancy.  For  him,  as  a 
mere  adventurer,  her  clairvoyance  might  reinforce  his 
scheming  most  successfully.  With  her  he  could  play 
his  game  as  with  a  new  queen  on  the  chess-board.  But 
he  saw  now  how  absurd  was  the  possibility  of  har- 
nessing her  to  such  projects.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  little 
dazzled  by  the  prospect  she  suggested.  As  he  corrected 
that  mistake  with  a  blush  for  his  worldly  innocence,  he 


SIDE   LIGHTS  201 

saw  what  the  game  with  her  alone  could  be — his  game 
transferred  from  the  plane  of  chicanery  to  the  level 
of  an  intimate  friendship — or  even  love.  He  saw  how 
she  would  play  it,  how  she  would  hold  his  interest, 
keeping  him  intellectually  alive  with  the  subtlety  of 
her  character. 

So  far  he  had  not  taken  her  seriously ;  he  had 
reveled  in  the  possibility  of  a  love  affair,  but  he  had 
not  even  contemplated  the  possibility  of  a  permanent 
alliance.  As  Madam  Spoil  had  said,  he  had  had  his 
pick  of  women — and  each  had  ended  by  boring  him. 
Granthope,  besides,  with  all  his  delight  in  strategy, 
was  modest,  and  desire  for  social  establishment  had  not 
entered  into  his  plans.  He  had  accepted  Clytie  as  one 
of  a  different  world,  desirable  and  even  tempting,  but 
not  at  all  as  one  who  would  change  either  his  theory  or 
his  mode  of  life.  But  now,  with  a  sudden  turn,  his 
thoughts  turned  to  marriage  with  her.  Madam  Spoil's 
words  leaped  to  his  memory — she  had  said  that  it  was 
possible.  This  idea  came  as  the  final  explosion  of  a 
long,  tumescent  agitation.  He  looked  at  Clytie  with 
new  eyes.  His  ambition  soared. 

The  meal  went  on  in  a  succession  of  bizarre  courses 
— seaweed  soup,  shark's  fins,  duck's  eggs,  fried  goose 
and  roasted  sucking  pig,  boiled  bamboo  sprouts  to 
bird's  nests  and  mysterious  dishes — with  rice  gin  and 
citron  wine.  The  company  was  rollicking  now ;  even 
the  gentleman  in  black  evening  dress  was  laughing, 
and,  goaded  on  by  the  irrepressible  Mrs.  Page,  had 
taken  a  large  crown  of  gold  paper,  cut  into  rich  pat- 
terns and  decorated  with  colored  trimmings,  from  its 
place  in  the  center  of  the  table  and  had  set  it  upon 
his  bald  head.  The  walls  of  the  dining-room  were 


202  THE    HEART    LINE 

covered  with  a  row  of  paper  costumes,  elaborate  robes 
used  by  the  Chinese  tongs  in  their  triennial  festival 
of  the  dead.  They  were  of  all  colors,  decorated  with 
cut  paper  or  painted  in  dragon  designs  with  rainbow 
borders  and  gold  mons.  Mrs.  Page  tore  one  from 
the  wainscot  and  wrapped  it  about  her  partner's 
shoulders.  Fernigan  gibbered  a  fantastic  allegiance 
before  him;  Keith,  he  of  the  white  nose,  called  for 
a  speech.  Over  all  this  mirth  the  clashing  cymbals, 
the  rattling  tom-toms  and  squeaking  two-stringed  rid- 
dles kept  up  an  uncouth  accompaniment.  Granthope, 
so  far,  had  been  a  quiet  observer,  but  when  at  Clytie's 
request  he  removed  his  wig  and  false  mustache,  he 
was  recognized  by  Frankie  Dean,  who  sat  further 
up  the  table. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Granthope,"  she  cried  out.  "Won't  you 
please  read  my  hand?" 

Every  one  turned  to  him.  Clytie  watched  him  to 
see  what  he  would  do.  Mrs.  Maxwell,  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  obviously  annoyed  at  this  indelicacy,  sought 
to  rescue  him. 

"I  promised  Mr.  Granthope  that  he  wouldn't  be 
asked,"  she  interposed,  smiling  with  difficulty. 

"Office  hours  from  ten  till  four,"  Fernigan  an- 
nounced. The  guests  tittered. 

Granthope  arose  calmly  and  walked  up  to  the  young 
lady's  side,  taking  her  hand.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
sarcastic  tormentor. 

"This  is  one  of  the  rewards  of  my  profession,"  he 
said,  smiling  graciously.  "I  assure  you  I  don't  often 
get  a  chance  to  hold  such  a  beautiful  hand  as  this." 

Clytie  got  a  glance  across  to  him,  and  in  it  he  read 
her  approval.  He  bent  to  the  girl's  palm  gravely : 


SIDE   LIGHTS  203 

"I  see  by  your  clothes-line,"  he  said,  "that  you  have 
much  taste  and  dress  well.  Your  fish-line  shows  that 
you  have  extraordinary  luck  in  catching  anything  you 
want.  There  are  many  victories  along  your  line  of 
march.  There  is  a  pronounced  line  of  beauty  here; 
in  fact,  all  your  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places.  You 
will  have  a  very  good  hand  at  whatever  game  you 
play,  and  whoever  is  fortunate  enough  to  marry  you 
will  surely  take  the  palm." 

He  retired  gracefully,  followed  by  laughter  and 
applause,  and  was  not  troubled  by  more  requests. 
Clytie  whispered  to  him: 

"I  think  you  saved  yourself  with  honor.  It  was 
a  test,  but  I  was  sure  of  you!" 

Mrs.  Maxwell,  immensely  relieved,  almost  immedi- 
ately gave  the  signal  for  the  ladies  to  leave.  After 
the  men  had  reseated  themselves,  heavy  Chinese  pipes 
with  small  bowls  were  passed  about.  Most  of  the 
guests  tried  a  few  puffs  of  the  mild  tobacco,  and  then 
reached  for  cigarettes  or  cigars.  As  the  doors  to 
the  drawing-room  were  shut  they  drew  closer  together 
and  began  to  talk  more  freely. 

Blanchard  Cayley  came  over  and  sat  down  beside 
Granthope  in  Cly tie's  empty  chair.  He,  too,  had  taken 
off  his  wig.  His  smile  was  ingratiating,  his  voice 
was  suave,  as  he  said: 

"I  don't  want  to  make  you  talk  shop  if  you  don't 
care  to,  Granthope,  but  I'd  like  to  know  if  you  ever 
heard  of  reading  the  character  by  thumb-prints.  I 
don't  know  exactly  what  you'd  call  it — papilamancy, 
perhaps." 

"I  don't  think  it  has  ever  been  done,  but  I  don't 
see  why  it  shouldn't  be,"  said  Granthope,  amused. 


204  THE   HEART   LINE 

"What  is  necessary  to  make  it  a  science?" 

Granthope,  quicker  with  women  than  with  men, 
was  at  a  loss  to  see  what  Cayley  was  driving  at,  but 
he  suspected  a  trap,  and  foresaw  that  his  science  was 
to  be  impugned.  He  countermined: 

"Oh,  first  of  all,  a  classification  and  a  terminology," 
he  suggested.  Cayley  was  caught  neatly.  He  was 
more  ignorant  than  he  knew. 

"Why  don't  you  classify  the  markings  then?  I 
should  think  it  might  be  considered  a  logical  develop- 
ment of  chiromancy." 

"One  reason  is,  because  they  have  already  been  clas- 
sified by  Galton.  I've  forgotten  most  of  it,  but  I 
remember  some  of  the  primary  divisions.  Have  you 
a  pencil?" 

Cayley  unbuttoned  and  threw  open  his  plum-colored, 
long-sleeved  'dun/  disclosing  evening  dress  under- 
neath, and  produced  a  pencil  which  he  gave  to  the 
palmist.  Granthope  smoothed  out  his  paper  napkin, 
and,  as  he  talked,  drew  illustrative  diagrams  upon  it. 

"You  see,  the  identification  of  thumb-prints  is  made 
by  means  of  the  characteristic  involution  of  the 
nucleus  and  its  envelope.  One  needs  only  a  few 
square  millimeters  of  area.  There  are  three  primary 
nuclei — arches,  whorls  and  loops.  Each  has  variously 
formed  cores.  The  arch,  for  instance,  may  be  tented 
or  forked — so.  The  whorls  may  be  circular  or  spiral. 
The  loops  may  be  nascent,  invaded  or  crested,  and 
may  contain  either  a  single  or  several  rods,  as  they  are 
called.  Let  me  see  your  thumb,  please.  You  have  a 
banded,  duplex,  spiral  whorl.  It  was  there  when  you 
were  born,  it  will  be  the  same  in  form  when  you  die. 
Mine  is  an  invaded  loop  with  three  rods." 


SIDE   LIGHTS  205 

He  saw  by  Cayley's  face  that  he  had  scored.  Such 
technical  detail  was,  in  point  of  fact,  Cayley's  penchant, 
and  he  was  interested.  Granthope  proceeded: 

"Almost  every  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the 
human  body  has  been  used  at  one  time  or  another 
for  divination  or  interpretation,  as  I  suppose  you 
know." 

Cayley  saw  an  opening.  "But  what  do  you  think 
the  reading  of  moles,  for  instance,  amounts  to,  really  ?" 

"The  reading  of  them, 'very  little,  of  course.  But 
the  location  of  them,  a  good  deal." 

"Ah,"  said  Cayley,  "I  thought  so.  Then  you  affirm 
an  esoteric  basis  with  regard  to  such  interpretations? 
You  think  that  a  mass  of  absolute  knowledge  has  been 
conserved,  coming  down  from  no  one  knows  where, 
I  suppose?" 

"There  are  several  ways  of  looking  at  it,"  Grant- 
hope  answered  him.  He  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair  and  gathered  the  company  in  with  his  eyes. 
"One  theory,  as  you  know,  is  that  palmistry  derives  its 
authority  from  the  fact  that  the  lines  are  produced  by 
the  opening  and  closing  of  the  hand — originally,  at 
least — the  fundamental  markings  being  inherited,  as 
are  our  fundamental  mental  characteristics — and  that 
such  alteration  of  the  tissue  is  directly  affected  by  the 
character.  One  stamps  his  own  particular  way  of 
doing  things  upon  his  palm.  Using  the  right  hand 
most,  more  is  shown  there  that  is  individually  charac- 
teristic. Of  course  this  theory  will  not  apply  to  the  dis- 
tribution of  moles  upon  the  body.  But  it  seems  to  me 
that  every  part  of  an  organic  growth  must  be  consistent 
with  the  whole,  and  with  what  governs  it.  Everything 
about  a  person  must  necessarily  be  characteristic  of  the 


206  THE    HEART   LINE 

individual.  There  are  really  no  such  things  as  ac- 
cidents, if  we  except  scars.  We  recognize  that  in 
studying  physiognomy,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  in 
phrenology.  It  is  suggested  less  intelligibly  in  a  per- 
son's gait,  gesture  and  pose.  Everything  that  is 
distinctive  must  be  significant,  if  only  we  have  the 
power  of  interpreting  it.  Of  course  we  have  not  that 
power  as  yet.  Palmistry,  being  the  most  obvious  and 
striking  method,  has  been  more  fully  developed.  A 
great  amount  of  data  has  been  collected  upon  the 
subject,  and  every  good  palmist  is  continually  adding 
to  that  material.  But  I  believe  that,  to  a  possible 
higher  intelligence,  any  part  of  a  man's  body  would 
reveal  his  character — since  every  specialized  partial 
manifestation  of  himself  must  be  correlated  with  every 
other  part  and  the  whole.  How  else  could  it  be? 
Ail  infinite  experience  would  draw  a  man's  mental 
and  physical  portrait,  for  instance,  from  a  single  toe, 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  scientist  to  portray  a  whole  ex- 
tinct animal  from  a  single  bone.  I  think  that  there  can 
be,  in  short,  no  possible  divergence  from  type  without 
a  reason  for  it;  and  that  reason  is  the  same  one  that 
molded  his  character." 

"But  that  doesn't  explain  prognostication  of  the  fu- 
ture." By  this  time  the  animus  of  Cayley's  attack 
had  died  out.  He  was  now  impersonally  interested. 
.  "No  scientific  palmist  attempts  to  give  more 
than  possibilities.  He  must  combine  with  the 
signs  in  the  hands  a  certain  amount  of  psychology 
— a  knowledge  of  the  tendencies  of  human  nature — 
in  order  to  predict.  But,  after  all,  his  diagnosis,  when 
it  is  logical,  is  as  accurate  as  that  of  the  ordinary  phy- 
sician, and  the  risk  is  less  serious.  How  many  doctors 


SIDE   LIGHTS  207 

look  wise  and  take  serious  chances — or  prescribe  bread- 
pills?    There's  guess-work  enough  in  all  professions." 

By  this  time  the  two  had  been  joined  by  several 
others  who  hung  over  them  in  a  group,  listening.  Fer- 
nigan  interjected: 

"That's  right!  Even  Blanchard  has  to  guess  what 
he's  talking  about  most  of  the  time !" 

"And  you  have  to  guess  whether  you're  sober  or 
not!"  said  slim  Keith  with  the  white  nose. 

"When  you  talk  about  the  probable  tendencies  of 
human  nature,  you  don't  know  what  you're  up 
against,"  said  Cayley,  retreating.  "San  Francisco  is 
a  town  where  people  are  likely  to  do  anything.  There's 
no  limit,  no  predicting  for  them.  They  were  buying 
air-ship  stock  on  the  street  down  at  Lotta's  fountain, 
the  last  thing  I  heard." 

The  old  gentleman  in  evening  dress,  still  wearing 
his  Chinese  paper  crown,  took  him  up  enthusiastically. 

"You  can  be  more  foolish  here  without  getting  into 
the  insane  asylum  than  any  place  on  earth,  but  you 
have  to  be  a  thoroughbred  spiritualist  before  you  can 
really  call  yourself  bug-house.  Look  at  old  man  Ben- 
nett! You  couldn't  make  anything  up  he  wouldn't 
believe !" 

"What  about  him?"  said  Cayley.  "I  would  like  to 
have  him  for  my  collection  of  freaks." 

"Oh,  he  was  a  furniture  manufacturer  here.  I 
knew  him  well,  but  I  forget  the  details.  It  was  some- 
thing fierce  though,  the  way  they  worked  him." 

Granthope  smiled.  "I  can  tell  you  something  about 
Bennett,"  he  offered.  "I  happened  to  hear  the  whole 
story  nearly  at  first  hand." 

"Let's  have  it,"  Cayley  proposed. 


THE   HEART   LINE 


Granthope  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  began,  rather 
pleased  at  having  an  audience. 

"Why,  he  went  to  investigating  spiritualism  and  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  man  named  Harry  Wing  and  a 
gang  of  mediums  here.  They  won  Bennett  over  to  a 
firm  belief,  step  by  step,  till  he  was  the  dupe  of  every 
ghost  that  appeared  in  the  materializing  circles,  which 
cost  him  twenty-five  dollars  an  evening,  by  the  way. 
One  man  that  helped  Wing  out,  played  spirit,  pre- 
tended to  be  his  dead  son,  and  used  to  ask  him  for 
jewelry  so  that  he  could  dematerialize  it,  and  then 
rematerialize  it  for  identification.  If  Bennett  went 
down  to  Los  Angeles  he'd  take  the  same  train  and 
turn  up  at  a  circle  there,  proving  he  wras  the  same  spirit 
by  the  rings  that  had  been  given  him  up  here.  Well, 
Bennett  got  so  strong  for  it  that  after  a  while  they 
didn't  bother  with  cabinets  and  dark  seances  —  the 
players  used  to  walk  right  in  the  door.  Then  they'd 
tell  him  that,  as  partly  materialized  spirits,  they  ought 
to  have  dinner  to  increase  their  magnetism,  and  he'd 
send  out  for  chicken  and  wine.  Finally  they  got  him 
so  they'd  point  out  people  on  the  street  and  assert  that 
they  were  spirits.  The  prettiest  test  was  when  they 
materialized  Cleopatra.  I've  never  seen  the  Egyptian 
queen,  but  she  certainly  wasn't  a  bit  prettier  than  the 
girl  who  played  her  part.  Bennett,  as  an  extraordinary 
test  of  her  strength,  was  allowed  to  take  her  out  to  the 
Cliff  House  in  a  hack.  The  curtains  of  the  carriage 
had  to  be  pulled  down  to  keep  the  daylight  from 
burning  her." 

"Oh,  Cliff  House,  what  crimes  have  been  committed 
in  thy  name!"  Fernigan  murmured. 

"Next,  they  made  Bennett  believe  that  his  influence 


SIDE   LIGHTS  209 

was  so  valuable  in  accustoming  spirits  to  earth-con- 
ditions, that  they  were  going  to  reveal  a  new  bible  to 
him,  with  all  the  errors  and  omissions  corrected,  and 
he  would  go  down  to  posterity  as  its  author.  In 
return,  he  was  to  help  civilize  the  planet  Jupiter.  You 
see,  Jupiter  being  an  exterior  planet  was  behind  the 
earth  in  culture.  Bennett  contributed  all  sorts  of  agri- 
cultural implements  and  furniture  to  be  dematerialized 
and  sent  to  Jupiter,  there  to  be  rematerialized  and  used 
as  patterns.  Wing  even  got  him  to  contribute  a  five 
hundred  dollar  carriage  for  the  same  purpose.  It 
was  sold  by  the  gang  for  seventy-five  dollars,  and  even 
when  it  was  shown  to  Bennett  by  his  friends,  who  were 
trying  to  save  him,  he  wouldn't  believe  it  was  the  same 
one.  They  milked  him  out  of  every  cent  at  last,  and 
he  died  bankrupt." 

Granthope  had  scarcely  finished  his  story  when  the 
drawing-room  doors  were  half  opened  and  Mrs.  Page 
appeared  on  the  threshold  pouting. 

"Aren't  you  ever  coming  in  here?"  she  exclaimed 
petulantly.  "You  might  let  us  have  Mr.  Granthope, 
at  least." 

The  men  rose  and  sauntered  in,  one  by  one. 

Granthope  had  but  a  moment  in  which  to  reflect 
upon  what  he  had  done,  but  in  that  moment  he  regret- 
ted his  indiscretion  in  telling  the  Bennett  story.  He 
had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  opportunity  to  make 
himself  interesting  and  agreeable;  now  he  wondered 
what  price  he  would  have  to  pay  for  it.  The  next 
moment  his  speculations  vanished  at  the  sight  of 
Clytie. 

He  went  directly  to  her  and  sat  down.  Although 
the  party  was  dispersed  in  little  groups,  the  conversa- 


210  THE    HEART    LINE 

tion  had  become  more  or  less  general,  and  he  had  no 
chance  to  talk  to  her  alone.  He  received  her  smile, 
however,  and  she  favored  him  with  as  much  of  her 
talk  as  was  possible. 

As  she  sat  there,  with  relaxed  grace  that  was  almost 
languor,  she  made  the  other  women  in  the  room  look 
either  negligently  lolling  or  awkwardly  conscious.  He 
noticed  how  some  of  them  showed  the  fabled  western 
influence  of  environment  by  the  frank  abandon  of  their 
pose,  how  others  held  themselves  rigidly,  as  if  aware 
of  their  own  lack,  and  sought,  by  stern  attention,  to 
conceal  it.  Clyde's  head  was  poised  proudly,  her  hands 
fell  from  her  slender  wrists  like  drooping  flowers. 
Her  whole  body  was  faultlessly  composed,  unified 
with  harmonious  lines,  as  if  a  masterly  portrait  were 
gently  roused  into  life. 

Fernigan  now  began,  upon  request,  a  Chinese  par- 
ody, accompanied  by  absurd  pantomime.  Granthope 
could  not  bear  it,  and,  seeing  Clytie  still  busy  with  her 
admirers,  slipped  out  of  the  room  and  went  up  to  the 
library. 

Mr.  Maxwell's  books  were  rare  and  carefully  select- 
ed, a  treat  for  such  an  amateur  as  Granthope.  He 
went  from  case  to  case  fingering  the  volumes,  opening 
and  glancing  through  one  after  another.  The  pursuit 
kept  him  longer  than  he  had  intended. 

There  was  a  smaller  room  off  the  library,  used  as 
a  study  and  shut  off  by  a  portiere.  Granthope,  stand- 
ing near  the  entrance,  suddenly  heard  the  sound  of 
swishing  skirts  and  footsteps,  then  the  subdued,  modu- 
lated voices  of  two  women.  With  no  intention  at  first 
of  eavesdropping,  he  kept  on  with  his  perusal  of  the 
book  in  his  hand.  The  first  part  of  the  conversation  he 


SIDE   LIGHTS  211 

remembered  rather  than  listened  to,  but  it  soon  at- 
tracted his  alert  attention. 

"I  think  it's  a  rather  extraordinary  thing,  Mrs. 
Maxwell's  asking  him,  though,  don't  you?"  one  of 
the  ladies  said. 

The  reply  was  in  a  gentle  and  more  sympathetic 
voice:  "Oh,  she  wanted  an  attraction,  I  suppose,  and 
he's  really  very  good-looking,  you  know." 

"He's  handsome  enough,  but  he's  too  much  like  a 
matinee  hero  for  me ;  my  dear,  he's  absolutely  impos- 
sible, really!  He's  not  the  sort  of  person  one  cares 
to  meet  more  than  once.  He's  beyond  the  pale." 

"It's  rather  cruel  to  invite  him  just  to  show  him 
off,  I  think.  In  a  way,  he  had  to  accept." 

"Oh,  I  expect  he's  only  too  glad  to  come." 

"I  wonder  how  he  feels !  Do  you  suppose  he  has 
any  idea  that  he's  out  of  his  element?  It  must  be 
strange  to  be  willing  to  accept  an  invitation  when  you 
know  you  are,  after  all,  only  a  sort  of  freak." 

"Don't  worry.  A  charlatan  has  to  have  a  pretty 
thick  skin — no  doubt  he'll  make  use  of  all  of  us,  and 
brag  about  his  acquaintance.  That's  his  business,  you 
know ;  he  has  to  advertise  himself." 

"I  know ;  but  every  man  has  his  own  sense  of  dig- 
nity, and  it  must  be  somewhat  mortifying — no  self- 
respecting  coal-heaver  would  accept  such  an  invitation 
— his  pride  would  keep  him  from  it." 

"I  don't  see  how  a  man  like  that  can  have  much 
pride.  A  coal-heaver  has,  after  all,  a  dignified  way  of 
earning  his  living.  This  man  hasn't.  His  trade  can't 
permit  him  to  be  self-respecting.  It's  more  undignified 
than  any  honest  labor  would  be.  Why,  he  lives  by 
trickery  and  flattery,  and  now  he's  beginning  to  toady, 


212  THE    HEART    LINE 

too.    Just  look  at  the  way  he  is  after  Clytie  Payson, 
already." 

"Yes,  I  can't  see  why  she  permits  it,  but  she  seems 
to  be  positively  fascinated  by  him.  Isn't  it  strange 
how  a  fine  girl  like  that  is  usually  the  most  easily 
deceived?  Did  you  see  the  way  she  was  looking  at 
him  at  supper?  That  told  the  story.  Of  course,  you'd 
expect  it  of  Mrs.  Page,  but  not  of  Cly." 

"Don't  you  believe  it!  Cly's  no-  fool — she  sees 
through  him.  He's  interesting,  you  can't  deny  that ; 
and  you  know  that  a  clever  man  can  get  about  any- 
thing he  wants  in  this  town.  There  are  too  few  of 
them  to  go  round,  and  so  they're  all  spoiled.  But 
Cly's  only  playing  him." 

"You  don't  think  she's  deliberately  fooling  him,  do 
you  ?" 

"Nonsense!  I  know  Cly  as  well  as  you  do.  She 
would  always  play  fair  enough,  of  course,  but  that 
doesn't  prevent  her  wanting  to  study  a  new  specimen, 
especially  one  as  attractive  as  Granthope.  But  it  won't 
last  long.  Cly's  too  honest.  It's  likely  that  he'll  go 
too  far  and  take  advantage  of  her — then  she'll  call  him 
down  and  dismiss  him." 

"Do  you  think  he  imagines  that  he  could  really — 
began  the  other. 

"Oh,  he's  no  fool  either!  He  knows  perfectly  well 
where  he  belongs,  but  he's  working  his  chances  while 
they  last." 

Granthope  had  been  deliberately  listening  and,  as 
the  last  words  came  to  his  ears,  his  emotion  burst  into 
flame.  This,  then,  was  how  he  was  regarded  by  the 
new  circle  into  which  he  had  been  admitted.  He  was  a 
curiosity,  handsome,  but  beyond  the  pale — even  Clytie, 


SIDE   LIGHTS  213 

it  was  probable,  was  willing  to  amuse  herself  with 
him.  The  illumination  it  gave  him  as  to  his  status  was 
vivid,  its  radiance  scorched  him. 

He  had  never  caught  this  point  of  view  before.  He 
had  been  too  interested  in  his  emergence  from  obscuri- 
ty, he  had  even  congratulated  himself  upon  his  increas- 
ing success.  Now  he  saw  that  the  further  he  went 
on  that  road  the  further  away  from  Clytie  he  would 
be — he  saw  the  chasm  that  separated  them.  His  undig- 
nified profession  appeared  to  him  for  the  first  time  in 
its  true  aspect.  The  humiliation  and  mortification  of 
that  revelation  was  sickening.  He  had  not  believed 
that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  suffer  over  anything  so 
keenly.  The  insults  he  had  received,  produced,  after 
a  poignant  moment  of  despair,  an  energetic  reaction. 
His  fighting  instinct  was  awakened.  He  had  achieved 
a  certain  control  of  himself,  he  had  a  social  poise  and 
assurance  that  kindled  his  mind  at  the  prospect  of 
an  encounter. 

He  drew  aside  the  portiere  and  walked  boldly  into 
the  little  room. 

Two  ladies  were  sitting  there,  picturesque  in  their 
costumes.  Their  rainbow-hued  garments  showed  a 
bizarre  blotch  of  color  in  the  quiet  monochrome  of  the 
place.  Their  faces  were  whitened  with  powder,  their 
eyebrows  blackened  to  the  willow-curve,  their  lips 
lined  with  red — they  looked,  in  the  half-light,  like 
fantastic,  exotic  Pierrettes.  As  they  caught  sight  of 
him  they  started  up  with  surprise,  almost  with  fear. 
Granthope  bowed  with  a  quiet  smile,  perfectly  master 
of  himself. 

"I  want  to  apologize  for  having  overheard  your 
conversation,"  he  said.  "I  must  confess  that  I  was 


2i4  THE   HEART   LINE 

eavesdropping.  My  business  is,  you  know,  to  read 
character  for  others,  and  I  don't  often  have  a  chance 
to  hear  my  own  so  well  described.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you,  I'm  sure." 

He  had  the  whip-hand  now.  There  was  nothing  for 
them  to  say;  they  said  nothing,  staring  at  him,  their 
lips  parted. 

He  walked  through  to  the  door  of  the  hall  and  there 
paused  like  an  actor  making  his  exit  from  the  stage. 
A  cynical  smile  still  floated  on  his  lips.  He  had  never 
looked  more  handsome,  with  his  black  hair,  his  clean- 
cut  head,  and  his  fine,  deep  eyes  that  looked  them 
over  calmly,  without  haste.  His  costume  became  him 
and  he  wore  it  well.  Now,  as  he  raised  his  hand,  the 
long  sleeve  of  his  olive  green  coat  fell  a  little  away 
from  his  fingers.  Below,  his  lavender  trousers 
gleamed  softly.  It  was  a  queer  draping  for  his  serious 
pose.  It  was  a  strangely  figured  pair  that  he  addressed 
as  they  sat,  embarrassed,  immovable  in  their  splendid 
silken  garments. 

He  added  more  gently,  with  no  trace  of  sarcasm 
in  his  smooth  voice :  "I  would  like  to  tell  you,  if  it  is 
any  satisfaction  for  you  to  know,  that  your  operation 
has  been  successful.  It  was  rather  painful,  without 
the  anesthetic  of  kindness,  but  I  shall  recover.  I  think 
I  may  even  be  better  for  it,  perhaps  restored  to  health 
• — who  knows!"  Then  his  smile  became  enigmatic; 
he  left  them  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

He  made  his  way  to  Clyde  with  a  new  assurance; 
inexplicably  to  him,  some  innate  power,  long  in  re- 
serve, had  risen  to  meet  the  emergency.  He  was 
exhilarated,  as  with  a  victory.  She  looked  up  at  him 
puzzled. 


SIDE   LIGHTS  215 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  what  has  happened  this 
time?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  if  I  only  did!  Something  has — you  have 
changed,  somehow." 

"Is  it  an  improvement?" 

"You  know,  it  is  my  theory  that  you're  going  to— 
She    gave    up    her    explanation — her    lips    quivered. 
"Well,  yes  !    You  have  been  embarrassed  ?" 

"I  suppose  it  was  good  for  my  vanity." 

"Then  you  have  heard  something  unpleasant." 

"The  truth  often  is." 

"Was  it  true?" 

He  laughed  it  off.  "It  was  nothing  I  mightn't  have 
known." 

"Then  it  is  for  you  to  make  it  false,  isn't  it?" 

"If  I  can." 

"I  think  there  is  nothing  you  couldn't  do  if  you 
tried." 

"There  is  nothing  I  couldn't  do  if  I  had  your  help," 
he  answered. 

For  answer,  she  took  the  little  gold  heart-shaped 
bottle  from  its  mesh-work  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"You  must  learn — but  perhaps  this  may  help  you. 
Will  you  keep  it?" 

He  took  it  and  thanked  her  with  his  eyes.  Then, 
their  dialogue  being  interrupted,  he  moved  off.  He 
wandered  about,  speaking  to  one  and  another  for  a 
few  moments,  gradually  drifting  toward  the  hall. 

As  he  stood  just  outside  the  reception-room  he 
glanced  up  the  broad  stairs  carelessly,  thinking  of  the 
two  ladies  to  whom  he  had  spoken.  He  smiled  to  him- 
self, wondering  if  they  had  yet  come  down.  While  he 
was  watching,  he  saw  a  woman  at  the  top  of  the 


THE   HEART   LINE 


stairs,  looking  over  the  rail.  A  second  glance  showed 
her  to  be  a  servant.  She  descended  slowly,  and,  in  a 
moment,  beckoned  stealthily.  He  paid  no  attention. 

She  came  nearer,  and,  finally,  seeing  no  one  with 
him,  called  out  to  him  in  a  whisper.  It  was  Lucie, 
Mrs.  Maxwell's  maid.  The  moment  Granthope  recog- 
nized her,  he  walked  into  the  parlors  again,  as  if  he 
had  not  noticed  her. 

Soon  after  that  he  paid  his  farewell  amenities  to 
his  hostess  and  went  up  to  where  he  had  left  his  hat 
and  coat.  Lucie  was  in  the  upper  hall  waiting  for 
him. 

"Mr.  Granthope,"  she  whispered,  "may  I  speak  to 
you  a  moment?  I  have  something." 

"Not  now,"  he  said,  passing  on. 

She  plucked  at  his  sleeve.  "I've  got  a  great  story," 
she  insisted. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Shall  I  come  down  to  your  office?" 

"Be  quiet!"  he  said  under  his  breath,  and  went 
in  for  his  things. 

She  was  waiting  for  him  when  he  emerged. 

"I'll  come  down  as  soon  as  I  can  get  off,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  looking  at  her, 
and  went  down-stairs,  and  out. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  WEB 

Madam  Spoil  was  sitting  in  her  study  on  Eddy 
Street,  awaiting  her  victim,  when  Francis  Granthope, 
immaculate  as  usual,  appeared  in  her  doorway,  having 
been  admitted  by  Spoil.  She  was  in  front  of  the 
glass,  pinning  on  a  lace  collar. 

"Hello,  Frank,"  she  said  cordially,  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  "you're  a  sight  for  sore  eyes!  We  don't 
see  much  of  you,  nowadays." 

"I've  been  pretty  busy,  lately,"  he  answered,  sitting 
down  and  looking  about  with  an  expression  of  ill- 
concealed  distaste.  The  stuffy,  crowded  room  seemed 
more  unpleasant  than  ever,  after  his  evening  at  the 
Maxwells'.  Madam  Spoil  seemed  more  gross.  Every- 
thing that  had  been  familiar  to  him  had  somehow 
changed.  He  seemed  to  have  a  different  angle  of  vis- 
ion. It  was  close  and  warm,  and  the  air  smelled  of 
dust. 

"You  ain't  a-going  to  forget  your  old  friends,  now 
you've  got  in  with  the  four  hundred,  are  you,  Frank?" 
she  said  earnestly. 

He  pulled  out  a  cigarette-case  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
As  he  struck  the  match  he  answered: 

"Not  if  they  don't  meddle  in  my  affairs."  He  gazed 
at  her  coolly  as  he  inhaled  a  puff  of  smoke  and  sent 
a  ring  across  the  room. 

Madam  Spoil's  face  grew  stern.  "That's  no  way  to 
talk,  Frank.  I've  been  the  same  as  a  mother  to 

217 


THE   HEART   LINE 


you,  in  times  past,  ever  since  you  went  into  business,' 
in  fact.    It  looks  like  you  was  getting  too  good  for  us." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"Oh,  you're  so  stand-off,  nowadays." 

He  laughed  uneasily.  "You  always  said  I  was 
spoiled." 

"Well,  who's  spoiling  you  now?    Miss  Payson?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know,  well  enough!  Lord,  why  don't  you 
come  out  with  it!  It's  all  in  the  family,  ain't  it? 
You've  got  her  on  the  string,  all  right,  ain't  you  ?" 

"I  have  not."  The  frown  grew  deeper  in  his  fore- 
head. 

"H'm!"  She  drew  a  long  breath.  "Well,  that 
means  we'll  have  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  then,  I 
expect.  I  had  a  sort  of  an  idea  that  you  had  got  her 
going,  and  wouldn't  mind  saying  so,  but  if  you're 
going  to  go  to  work  and  be  mysterious,  why,  I'll  have 
to  talk  straight  business."  She  pointed  at  him  with 
her  pudgy  finger.  "Now,  see  here,  she's  been  writing 
to  you,  anyways.  You  can't  deny  that" 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  at  all  about  it;  I  know. 
What  d'you  take  me  for?  A  Portugee  cook?  It's  my 
business  to  know  all  about  the  Paysons,  that's  all. 
Very  good." 

Granthope  looked  more  concerned,  and  eyed  her  sus- 
piciously. 

"There's  only  one  way  for  you  to  have  found  that 
out,"  he  said.  "And  that  reminds  me.  I  want  to 
get  those  notes  I  gave  you  about  her  when  you  were 
up  at  my  place.  I  didn't  keep  a  copy,  and  I've  forgot- 
ten some  of  the  details  that  I  need." 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        219 

Madam  Spoil  raised  her  eyebrows,  also  her  shoul- 
ders, and  made  an  inarticulate  noise  in  her  throat. 
"Funny  you  need  them  so  bad  all  of  a  sudden.  Not 
that  they  done  us  much  good — we've  found  out  a  lot 
for  ourselves ;  about  all  we  need  for  the  present" 

"Well,  I  haven't  interfered  with  your  game,  and 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  interfere  with  mine.  Only, 
I'd  like  those  memoranda  back,  please."  His  tone  was 
almost  peremptory. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  ain't  got  'em/' 

"Where  are  they?" 

"Why,  I  give  'em  to  Vixley." 

Granthope  saw  that  it  was  no  use  to  go  further. 
He  had,  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  already  aroused 
her  suspicions,  and  so  he  pretended  to  consider  the 
matter  of  no  moment.  Madam  Spoil,  however,  was 
now  thoroughly  aroused. 

"What  I  want  to  know,  Frank,  is  whether  you're 
with  us  or  not." 

"I  thought  the  understanding  was  that  we  were  to 
work  separately," 

"Separately  and  together.  Mutual  exchange  and 
actual  profit,  for  each  and  for  all.  We  got  a  mighty 
good  thing  in  Payson,  me  and  Vixley  have,  and  we 
propose  to  work  it  for  all  it's  worth.  It'll  be  for  your 
interest  to  come  in  and  help  us  out.  True,  you  have 
done  something,  but  now  you're  lallagagging,  so  to 
speak,  when  you  might  be  making  a  big  haul.  Pay- 
son's  easy,  and  we  can  steer  the  girl  your  way,  through 
him.  He'll  believe  anything.  All  we  got  to  do  is 
to  say  my  guides  want  him  to  have  yon  for  a  son-in- 
law,  and  the  trick  is  as  good  as  turned.  I  agree  to 
get  him  started  this  afternoon,  He's  a  ten-to-one  shot, 


220  THE    HEART    LINE 

I  can  see  that  with  half  an  eye.  It'll  only  be  up  to 
you  to  make  good  with  the  girl,  and  Lord  knows  that'll 
be  easy  for  you.  Now  is  that  straight  enough  for 
you?" 

Granthope  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  nerv- 
ously. He  paused  to  straighten  some  magazines  upon 
the  table,  he  adjusted  a  photograph  upon  the  wall,  he 
moved  back  a  chair ;  then  he  turned  to  her  and  said : 

"I  don't  see  how  there's  anything  in  this  for  me. 
I'm  through  with  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  think, 
on  the  whole,  I'll  stay  out.  I'm  going  in  for  straight 
palmistry — and — well,  another  kind  of  game  altogether. 
You  wouldn't  understand  it  even  if  I  explained.  I've 
got  a  good  start,  now,  and  I  don't  want  to  queer 
myself." 

Madam  Spoil  made  a  theatrical  gesture  of  surprise. 
"Lord,  Frank,  who  would  have  thought  of  you  doing 
the  Sunday-school  superintendent  act  on  me !  A  body 
would  think  you'd  never  faked  in  your  life !  My  Lord, 
I'm  trying  to  lead  you  astray,  am  I  ?" 

"That's  all  right.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  very  virtu- 
ous, but  some  of  this  is  getting  a  little  raw  for  me." 

Madam  Spoil  opened  her  eyes  and  her  mouth. 
"What's  got  into  you,  anyway?" 

"Something's  got  out,  perhaps,"  he  said,  frowning. 
"At  any  rate,  I  don't  care  to  make  use  of  Miss  Payson 
to  help  you  rob  her  father." 

"Rob  her  father !"  Outraged  innocence  throbbed  in 
Madam  Spoil's  voice.  "Lord,  Frank,  you're  plumb 
crazy !  Why,  he  won't  spend  no  money  he  don't  want 
to,  will  he  ?  He  can  afford  it  well  enough !  He'll 
never  miss  what  we  get  out  of  him.  You  might  think 
I  was  going  to  pick  his  pockets,  the  way  you  talk." 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB       221 

She  took  him  by  the  arm.  "See  here!  You  ain't 
really  stuck  on  that  Payson  girl,  are  you?  Why,  if 
I  didn't  know  you  so  well,  I'd  be  almost  ready  to  sus- 
pect you  of  it !  But  land,  you've  had  women  running 
after  you  ever  since  you  went  into  business!  But  I 
notice  you  don't  often  stay  away  from  the  office  more'n 
two  days  running." 

"I  don't  know  that  my  private  affairs  are  any  of 
your  business,"  he  said  curtly.  He  was  rather  glad, 
now,  of  the  chance  for  an  outright  quarrel. 

But  she  would  not  let  it  come  to  that,  and  continued 
in  a  wheedling  tone:  "Well,  this  happens  to  be  my 
business,  and  I  speak  to  you  as  a  friend,  Frank,  for 
your  own  good  as  well  as  mine.  You  can  take  it  or 
leave  it,  of  course;  I  ain't  a-going  to  try  and  put 
coercion  on  to  you,  and  there's  time  enough  to  decide 
when  we  get  Payson  wired  up.  Then  I'll  talk  to  you 
just  once  more.  You  just  think  it  over  a  while,  and 
don't  do  nothing  rash." 

Granthope  arose  to  leave.  He  was  for  a  more 
romantic  game,  himself.  The  vulgarity  here  offended 
him  esthetically  rather  than  ethically,  and  yet  he 
winced  at  the  insinuations  Madam  Spoil  had  made. 

"I  think  I  can  go  it  alone,"  he  said ;  "as  for  rash- 
ness, I  won't  promise." 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  minutes  when  Professor 
Vixley  entered  and  shook  a  long  lean  claw  with 
Madam  Spoil,  took  off  his  coat  and  sat  down.  "Well," 
he  said  affably,  "how're  they  coming,  Gert?" 

"Oh,  so-so;  Frank  Granthope's  just  been  here." 

"Is  that  so!    Did  you  get  anything  out  of  him?" 

"No.  And  he  wants  his  Payson  notes  back  again. 
What  d'you  think  of  that !" 


THE   HEART   LINE 


Vixley  crossed  his  legs,  and  whistled  a  low,  aston- 
ished note.  "We're  goin'  to  have  trouble  with  Frank, 
I  expect." 

Madam  Spoil's  smooth  forehead  wrinkled.  "Frank's 
a  fool  !  He's  leary  of  us,  and  I  believe  he'll  throw  us 
down  if  we  don't  look  out." 

"Most  time  to  put  the  screws  on,  ain't  it?" 

"I  don't  know;  we'll  see.  We  can  go  it  alone  for 
a  while*  Wait  till  we  really  need  him  and  I'll  guaran- 
tee to  make  him  mind.  He's  got  the  society  bug  so 
bad  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  him." 

"The  more  he  gets  into  society  the  more  use  he  is 
to  us,"  said  Vixley.  "He's  a  pretty  smooth  article." 

"Do  you  know,  I  have  an  idea  he's  getting  stuck  on 
that  Payson  girl." 

Vixley  cackled. 

"You  never  can  tell,"  said  Madam  Spoil.  "I  believe 
Frank's  got  good  blood  in  him.  Sooner  or  later  it's 
bound  to  come  out." 

"Well,  if  he's  after  the  girl,  it'll  be  easier  for  us  to 
bring  him  around.  He  won't  care  to  be  gave  away." 

"That's  right,  and  we'll  use  it.  I  can  see  that  girl's 
face  when  she  hears  about  him  crawling  through  the 
panel  at  Harry  Wing's  to  play  spook  for  Bennett." 

"Not  to  speak  of  Fancy,"  Vixley  added,  grinning. 

To  them,  Ringa  entered.  He  slunk  into  a  chair 
beside  Vixley,  smoothed  down  his  tow  hair,  stroked 
his  bristling  mustache,  and  allowed  his  weak  gray  eyes 
to  drift  about  the  room. 

"Well  ?"  Madam  Spoil  queried,  giving  him  a  glance 
over  her  fat  shoulder. 

"I  found  him  all  right,  and  I've  got  something.  I 
guess  it's  worth  a  dollar,  Madam  Spoil." 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        223 

"Let's  hear  it,  first,"  said  Vixley. 

"I  done  the  insurance  agent  act,  and  I  jollied  him 
good."  Ringa  grinned,  showing  a  hole  in  his  mouth 
where  two  front  teeth  should  have  been. 

"You  jollied  him,"  Vixley  showed  his  yellow  teeth. 
"Lord,  you  don't  look  it!" 

"I  did  though,"  the  pale  youth  protested.  "I  conned 
him  for  near  an  hour." 

"You're  sure  he  didn't  get  on  to  you  ?"  Madam  Spoil 
asked,  regarding  her  head  sidewise  in  the  glass  and 
patting  the  blue  bow  on  her  throat. 

"Sure!  I  was  a  dead  ringer  for  the  real-thing 
agent,  and  I  had  the  books  to  show  for  it.  I  worked 
him  for  an  insurance  policy." 

"Well?  What  did  he  say?"  Madam  Spoil  turned 
on  him  like  a  mighty  gun. 

"He  was  caught  between  two  trains  once  on  the 
Oakland  Mole,  and  I  guess  he  was  squeezed  pretty  bad. 
He  said  it  was  a  close  call." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Vixley;  "we  can  trim  that 
up  in  good  shape,  can't  we,  Gert?" 

"It'll  do  for  a  starter.     Give  him  a  dollar." 

"Anything  more  to-day?"  Ringa  asked,  rising 
slowly. 

"No;  I'll  let  you  know  if  I  want  you,"  said  the 
Madam. 

Ringa  slouched  out. 

"I'd  let  that  cool  off  a  while  till  he's  forgotten  it," 
Vixley  suggested. 

"I'll  make  him  forget  it,  all  right,"  Madam  Spoil 
returned.  "That's  my  business.  You  do  your  part  as 
well  as  I  do  mine  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

"It's  only  this  first  part  that  makes  me  nervous," 


224  THE    HEART   LINE 

"Oh,  he  ain't  going  to  catch  me  in  a  trap.  I  got 
sense  enough  to  put  a  mouse  in  first  to  try  it." 

She  stood  in  front  of  the  mirror  in  the  folding-bed, 
arranging  her  hair,  which  had  been  wet  and  still 
glistened  with  moisture,  holding  her  comb,  meanwhile, 
in  her  mouth.  Professor  Vixley  tilted  back  in  his 
plush  chair,  his  head  resting  against  the  grease-spot 
on  the  wall-paper  which  indicated  his  habitual  pose. 

"Now  don't  you  go  too  fast,"  he  said,  pulling  out  a 
square  of  chewing-tobacco  and  biting  off  a  corner. 
"This  here  is  a-goin'  to  be  a  delicate  operation.  Pay- 
son  ain't  so  easy  as  Bennett  was.  Bennett  would 
believe  that  cows  was  cucumbers,  if  we  told  him  so, 
but  this  chap  is  too  much  on  the  skeptic.  We  got  to 
go  slow." 

"You  leave  me  alone  for  that"  Madam  Spoil  replied 
easily.  "I  guess  I  know  how  to  jolly  a  good  thing 
along.  Has  he  got  the  money?  That's  all  I  want  to 
know  about  him." 

"He's  got  money  all  right.  That's  a  cinch.  I'm 
not  in  this  thing  for  my  health.  What's  more,  he's 
got  the  writin'  bug,  and  I  can  see  a  good  graft  in  that." 

"Well,  I'll  give  it  a  try." 

"No,  you  better  keep  your  hands  off  that  subject, 
Gertie.  I  can  work  that  game  better'n  you.  I  got  it 
all  framed  up  how  I  can  string  him  good.  I'm  goin' 
to  make  that  a  truly  elegant  work  of  art.  All  you  got 
to  do  is  to  get  him  goin',  and  then  steer  him  up  against 
me." 

The  door-bell  rang  noisily  up-stairs  and  Mr.  Spoil's 
footsteps  were  heard  going  to  answer  the  summons. 

"I  guess  that's  my  cue,"  said  Madam  Spoil,  smiling 
affably.  "I  wish  I  had  more  magnetism  to-day."  She 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB       225 

shook  her  hands  and  snapped  her  fingers.  "I  can't 
stand  so  much  of  this  as  I  used  to.  I  can  remember 
when  I  could  get  a  name  every  time  without  fishing 
for  it.  But  what  I've  lost  in  one  way  I  have  learned 
in  another.  I'm  going  to  give  him  a  run  for  his 
money,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

Vixley  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "Go  in  and 
win.,  Gert.  I  guess  I'll  take  a  nap  here  on  the  lounge 
while  I'm  waitin'  for  you,  and  see  if  the  Doc  doesn't 
come  in." 

"All  right,"  she  replied;  then  marched  up-stairs 
and  went  into  action. 

The  upper  parlor,  where  she  received  her  patrons 
for  private  sittings,  was  a  large  room  separated  from 
the  back  part  of  the  house  by  black  walnut  double 
doors.  Upon  the  high-studded  walls  were  draperies 
of  striped  oriental  stuffs,  caught  up  with  tacks  and 
enlivened  by  colored  casts  of  turbaned  Turks'  heads, 
most  of  which  were  chipped  on  cheek  and  on  chin, 
showing  irregular  patches  of  white  plaster.  Upon  the 
mantel  chaos  reigned,  embodied  in  a  mass  of  minor 
decorations  of  all  sorts,  such  as  are  affected  by  those 
who  deem  that  space  is  only  something  to  be  as  closely 
filled  as  possible.  The  furniture  was  cheaply  elaborate 
and  formally  arranged,  running  chiefly  to  purple 
stamped  plush  and  heavy  woolen  fringe.  The  silk 
curtains  in  the  windows  were  severely  arranged  in 
multitudinous  little  pleats,  fan  shaped,  drawn  in  with 
a  pink  ribbon  at  the  center.  There  was  scarcely  a 
thing  in  the  room,  from  the  fret-sawed  walnut  what- 
not in  the  corner  to  the  painted  tapestry  Romeo  upon 
the  double  doors,  that  an  artist  would  not  writhe  at 
and  turn  backward.  A  little  ineffective  bamboo  table 


226  THE   HEART   LINE 

in  the  center  was  made  a  feature  of  the  place,  but 
supported  its  function  with  triviality. 

Mr.  Pay  son  had  just  entered,  cold  and  blue  from 
the  harsh  air  outside.  He  bowed  to  the  seeress. 

She  began  with  the  weather,  referring  to  it  in 
obvious  commonplaces,  eliciting  his  condemnation  of 
the  temperature.  She  offered  to  light  the  gas-log  and 
succeeded,  during  the  conversational  skirmish,  in  draw- 
ing from  him  the  fact  that  he  suffered  from  rheu- 
matism, especially  when  the  wind  was  north. 

Madam  Spoil  allowed  the  ghost  of  a  smile  to  haunt 
her  face  for  a  brief  moment.  "Lucky  you  ain't  got 
my  weight,  it  gets  to  you  something  terrible  when 
you're  fat.  I  ain't  quite  so  slim  as  I  used  to  be."  She 
looked  up  from  the  grate  coquettishly,  marking  the 
effect  of  her  words. 

"Now  let's  set  down  and  get  ready,"  she  said,  going 
over  to  the  frail  table  and  pressing  her  hands  to  her 
forehead.  "I  ain't  in  proper  condition  to-day;  I've 
been  working  hard  and  my  magnetism's  about  wore 
out.  But  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

He  took  a  seat  opposite  her  and  waited.  His  atti- 
tude was  benignly  judicial;  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her,  through  his  gold-bowed  spectacles. 

"Funny  thing  how  different  people  are,"  she  began. 
"Now,  I  get  your  condition  right  off.  You  ain't  at 
all  like  the  rest  of  the  folks  that  come  here.  I  get 
a  condition  of  study,  like.  I  see  what  you  might  call 
books  around  you  everywhere — not  account-books, 
but  more  on  the  literary.  Books  and  sheep,  you  under- 
stand. Not  live  ones!  I  would  say  they  was  more 
on  the  dead  sheep.  Flat  ones,  too,  with  hair,  like — 
queer,  ain't  it?  Sounds  like  nonsense  I  suppose,  but 


THE   WEAVING    OF   THE   WEB        227 

that's  just  what  I  get.  They  must  be  some  mistake 
somehow."  She  drew  her  hand  across  her  forehead 
and  snapped  the  electricity  off  her  finger-tips.  Then 
she  rubbed  her  hands  and  twisted  her  mouth.  "Do 
you  know  what  I  mean?" 

"Why,  it  might  be  wool  perhaps ;  I  have  something 
to  do  with  wool,"  he  offered. 

"Now  ain't  that  strange  ?  It  is  wool,  as  sure's  you're 
born !  I  can  see  what  you  might  call  skins  and  bales 
of  wool.  And  I  get  a  condition  of  business,  too — but 
not  what  you  might  call  a  retail  business.  Seems  like 
it  was  more  on  the  wholesale." 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  he  assented,  nodding. 

"What  did  I  tell  you !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  do  believe 
I  may  get  something  after  all,  though  very  often  the 
first  time  ain't  what  you  might  call  a  success,  and 
sitters  are  liable  to  get  discouraged.  I  can  tell  you 
only  just  what  my  guides  give  me,  you  know,  and 
sometimes  Luella  is  pernickerty.  She's  my  chief  con- 
trol. You  know  how  it  is  yourself,  for  you'll  be  a 
man  that  knows  women  right  down  to  the  ground, 
and  you've  always  been  a  favorite  with  the  ladies,  too." 

"Oh,  I  never  knew  many  women,"  he  said  modestly. 

"It  ain't  the  number  I'm  speaking  of.  It's  the  hold 
you  had  over  'em,  specially  when  you  was  a  young 
man.  They  was  women  who  would  do  anything  you 
asked  them  and  be  glad  of  the  chance ;  now,  wasn't 
they  ?  Did  you  ever  know  of  a  party,  what  you  might 
call  a  young  woman,  though  not  so  very  young,  with 
the  initial  C?"  She  mumbled  the  letter  so  that  it  was 
not  quite  distinguishable. 

"G?"  he  said.  "Why,  yes! — was  that  the  first  name 
or  the  last?" 


228  THE   HEART   LINE 

"It  seems  like  it  was  the  first  name,  the  way  I  get 
it — would  it  be  Grace?" 

This  was,  of  course,  a  random  "fishing  test,"  and 
she  got  a  bite. 

"My  wife's  name  was  Grace." 

She  hooked  the  fact,  noticing  the  tense,  and  let  her 
line  play  out  to  distract  his  attention  temporarily. 

"It  don't  seem  quite  like  your  wife.  Seems  like  it 
was  another  woman  who  you  was  fond  of.  Maybe  it 
was  meant  for  the  last  name.  Sometimes  my  control 
does  get  things  awfully  mixed.  Or,  it  might  be  a 
middle  initial.  You  wait  a  minute  and  maybe  I'll 
get  it  stronger." 

"Oh,  if  it  was  the  last  name,  I  think  I  recognize  it." 

She  had  another  line  out  and  another  bite,  now,  and 
played  to  land  both,  coaxing  the  truth  gently  from  him. 

"Yes,  it's  a  last  name,  and  she  was  terrible  fond  of 
you.  She  was  in  love  with  you  for  some  time,  you 
understand?  And  there  was  some  trouble  between 
you." 

"There  was,  indeed!"  Mr.  Payson  shook  his  head 
solemnly. 

The  hint  now  made  sure  of,  she  heightened  it  to 
make  him  forget  that  he  himself  had  given  the  clue. 

"I  get  a  feeling  of  worry,  and  what  you  might  call  a 
misunderstanding.  You  didn't  quite  get  along  with 
each  other  and  it  made  a  good  deal  of  trouble  for  you. 
You  was  what  I  might  call  put  out,  you  understand? 
She's  in  the  spirit  now,  ain't  she?" 

"Yes ;  she  died  a  good  many  years  ago." 

Madam  Spoil  returned  to  her  first  fish  and  began  to 
reel  in.  "Your  wife's  passed  out,  too,  and  Luella  tells 
me  she's  here  now.  She  says  Grace  was  worried,  too. 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB       229 

But  she's  happy  now  and  wants  you  to  be.  You  was 
a  young  man  then,  and  yet  you  have  never  got  over  it. 
You  wasn't  rightly  understood,  was  you?" 

Mr.  Payson  shook  his  head  again.  He  was  listening 
attentively. 

"But  it  wan't  your  fault,  do  you  understand?  It 
was  something  that  couldn't  be  helped.  And  some- 
times when  you  think  of  this  other  lady  you  say  to 
yourself,  'If  she  only  knew !  If  she  only  knew !' '' 

"Yes,  I  wish  she  did.    It  really  wasn't  my  fault." 

Madam  Spoil  cast  more  bait  into  the  pool. 

"Now,  would  her  given  name  be  Mary,  or  something 
like  that?" 

"No — it  was  an  uncommon  name." 

The  medium  persisted  stubbornly. 

"That's  queer.    I  get  the  name  of  Mary  very  plain." 

"My  mother's  name  was  Mary;  perhaps  you  mean 
her?" 

"It  might  be  your  mother,  and  yet  it  seems  like  it 
was  a  younger  woman.  Now,  this  lady  I  spoke  of  had 
dark  hair,  didn't  she?  or  you  might  call  it  medium — 
sort  of  half-way  between  light  and  dark." 

"No ;  she  had  white  hair." 

Another  fish  was  on  the  hook.  Madam  Spoil  had  got 
what  she  wanted.  This  admission  of  Mr.  Payson's, 
coupled  with  the  fact  Granthope  had  discovered,  that 
Clytie  had  visited  the  crazy  woman,  identified  the  old 
man's  first  love,  she  thought,  effectually.  She  kept  this 
for  subsequent  use,  however.  It  would  not  do,  as 
Vixley  had  said,  to  go  too  fast. 

"Then  this  Mary  must  be  some  one  else,"  she  said. 
"You  may  not  recognize  her  now,  but  you  probably 
will.  I  can't  do  your  thinking  for  you,  you  know.  It 


230  THE   HEART   LINE 

may  possibly  be  that  you'll  meet  her  some  day;  at 
any  rate,  my  guides  tell  me  you  must  be  careful  and 
don't  sign  no  papers  for  Mary.  I  don't  know  whether 
she's  in  the  spirit  or  not.  You  may  understand  it  and 
you  may  not.  All  I  can  do  is  to  give  you  what  I  get." 

Madam  Spoil  now  became  absorbed  in  a  sort  of 
reverie.  When  at  last  she  emerged  it  was  with  this: 

"I  see  your  mother  and  your  wife  now,  and  I  get 
the  words,  'It's  a  pity  Oliver  couldn't  marry  her/  I 
don't  know  what  they  mean  at  all." 

"I  understand.  I  was  intending  to  marry  another 
woman,  the  one  you  spoke  of  just  now,  but  some- 
thing prevented." 

"That  must  be  it.  My  guide  tells  me  that  something 
dreadful  happened,  and  it  was  what  you  might  call 
hushed  up  and  you  separated  from  her." 

"It  was  not  my  fault." 

"I  get  a  little  child,  too"— Mr.  Payson  grew  still 
more  absorbed.  The  medium  noticed  his  instant 
reaction  in  eyes,  mouth  and  hands.  On  the  strength 
of  that  evidence,  she  took  the  risk  of  saying: 

"The  child  was  the  lady's  with  the  white  hair." 

"What  about  it?"  demanded  Mr.  Payson. 

"I  see  the  child  standing  by  a  lady  who  grew  gray 
very  young,  you  understand.  And  now  they're  both 
gone.  Was  you  ever  interested  in  Sacramento  or 
somewhere  east  of  here?" 

"Stockton?"  he  asked.    "I  lived  there  for  a  while." 

"That's  it.  I  see  a  river,  and  steamboats  coming  in, 
and  there's  the  child  again." 

"A  boy  or  a  girl?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  to  dart  a  glance  at  him 
as  swift  as  an  arrow.  Then  she  risked  it.  "A  girl." 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        231 

He  drew  a  long  breath.    "I  don't  quite  understand." 

"It  certainly  is  a  little  girl,  and  she's  with  the  lady 
with  the  gray  hair.  But  wait  a  minute.  Now  I  get  a 
little  boy,  and  he's  crying." 

"Where  is  he?"  came  eagerly  from  Payson's  lips. 

"He's  on  this  side.  He's  alive.  I'll  ask  my  guide." 
She  plunged  into  another  stupor,  then  shook  herself, 
rubbed  her  forehead,  wrung  her  hands. 

"I  can't  get  it  quite  strong  enough  to-day,  but  I'll 
find  out  later.  He  seems  to  be  mixed  up  with  you, 
some  way,  not  in  what  you  might  call  business,  but 
more  personally.  You're  worried  about  him." 

Mr.  Payson,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  appeared 
to  disclaim  this. 

"Yes,  you  are!  You  may  not  realize  it,  but  you 
are.  The  time  will  come  when  you  understand  what 
I  mean.  Now  you're  too  much  interested  •  in  other 
things.  Your  mind  is  way  off — toward  New  York, 
like,  or  in  that  direction." 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"Maybe  it  ain't  as  far  as  New  York,  but  it's  some- 
where around  there,  and  I  see  books  and  printing 
presses.  Do  you  have  anything  to  do  with  printing?" 

This  he  also  disclaimed. 

"Funny !"  she  persisted.  "I  get  you  by  a  printing- 
press  looking  at  a  book  and  then  I  see  you  at  a  table 
writing." 

"I  have  done  some  writing,  but  it  has  never  been 
printed." 

"Well,  it  will  be !  My  guide  tells  me  that  you  have 
a  great  talent  for  literary  writing,  and  it  could  be 
developed  to  a  great  success. 

"Now,"  she  added,  "you  let  me  hold  your  hands  a 


232  THE    HEART    LINE 

while  till  I  get  the  magnetism  stronger.  Just  hold 
them  firm — that's  right.  Lord,  you  needn't  squeeze 
them  quite  so  hard!"  She  beamed  upon  him  with 
obvious  coquetry.  "Now  I'm  going  into  a  trance.  I 
don't  know  whether  Luella  will  come,  or  maybe  little 
Eva.  Eva's  the  cunningest  little  tot  and  as  bright  as 
a  dollar.  She's  awful  cute.  You  mustn't  mind  any- 
thing she  says  or  does,  though.  Sometimes,  I  admit, 
she  mortifies  me,  when  sitters  tell  me  what  she's  been 
up  to.  I've  known  her  to  sit  on  men's  laps  and  kiss 
'em  and  hug  'em,  like  she  was  their  own  daughter, 
but  Lord,  she  don't  know  any  better.  She's  innocent 
as  a  baby." 

His  face  grew  harder  as  she  said  this,  but  she 
proceeded,  nevertheless,  with  her  experiment,  closing 
her  eyes  and  sitting  for  a  while  in  silence.  Then  her 
muscles  twitched  violently ;  she  squirmed  and  wrig- 
gled her  shoulders.  Finally  she  spoke,  in  a  high, 
squeaky  falsetto,  a  fair  ventriloquistic  imitation  of  a 
child's  voice. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Payson,  I'm  little  Eva!  I 
brought  you  some  flowers,  but  you  can't  see  'em, 
'cause  they're  spirit  flowers.  You  don't  look  very 
well.  Ain't  you  feelin'  well  to-day?  I'm  always  well 
here,  and  it's  lovely  on  this  side." 

He  made  no  response.  Madam  Spoil's  soft  hand, 
obviously  controlled  by  her  spirit  guide,  moved  up 
Mr.  Payson's  arm  and  patted  his  cheek.  He  drew 
back  suddenly. 

"My!"  little  Eva  exclaimed.  "You  frightened  me! 
What  a  funny  man  you  are !  Won't  you  just  let  me 
smoove  your  hair,  once?  I'd  love  to.  Oh,  I  think 
you're  horrid!  I'm  just  doin'  to  slap  your  face — 
there!"  Which  she  did  quite  briskly. 


THE    WEAVING   OF    THE    WEB        233 

Mr.  Payson  loosened  his  hold  with  some  annoyance. 

"Well,  I  ain't  doin'  to  stay  if  you  don't  love  me," 
the  shrill  voice  went  on.  "I  don't  like  men  who  don't 
love  me.  Good-by,  old  man,  I'm  doin'." 

There  was  another  wriggle  on  the  part  of  the 
medium,  after  which  a  lower-toned  voice  said: 

"How  do  you  do !    I'm  Luella." 

He  watched  the  medium's  blank,  expressionless  face 
as  she  spoke. 

"Say,  you  ain't  well,  I  can  see  that.  Haven't  you 
got  a  pain  in  your  leg?  Excuse  me  saying  it,  but  I 
can  feel  it  right  there." 

She  touched  him  gently  on  the  thigh. 

"Oh,  that's  only  a  touch  of  rheumatism,"  he  replied. 

"No,  it  ain't,"  she  said,  "it's  more  serious  than  that. 
It's  chronic,  and  it's  growing  worse.  Sometimes  it's 
so  painful  that  you  almost  die  of  it,  isn't  it?  I  know 
where  you  got  it;  it  come  of  an  accident.  I  can  see 
you  in  a  big  crowded  house,  like,  and  there's  railroad 
trains  coming  and  going,  and  you're  crowded  and 
jammed.  You  got  internal  injuries  and  a  complica- 
tion. You  didn't  realize  it  at  the  time,  but  it's  grow- 
ing worse  every  day.  If  you  don't  look  out  you'll 
pass  out  through  it,  but  if  you  went  right  to  work,  you 
could  be  cured  of  it,  before  it  gets  too  bad." 

"What  could  I  do  about  it?"  he  asked.  "The  doc- 
tors don't  help  me  much." 

"Of  course  they  don't.  You  haven't  been  to  the 
right  ones.  I  was  an  Indian  doctor,  and  I  can  see 
just  what's  the  matter  with  you.  You  need  a  certain 
kind  of  herb  I  used  to  use  when  I  was  on  the  flesh- 
plane  in  Idaho." 

"Can't  you  help  me,  then  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  got  to  go  now,  they're  calling  to  me.     So 


234  THE    HEART    LINE 

good-by."  Another  wriggle  and  Madam  Spoil  was 
herself  again. 

"Well,  what  did  you  get?"  she  asked  when  she 
recovered. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?" 

T'No  more'n  a  babe  unborn,"  she  said.  "I  was  in  a 
dead  trance,  and  I  never  remember  anything  that  hap- 
pens. I  hope  little  Eva  didn't  tease  you  any." 

"Who  is  the  other  one— Luella?" 

"Why,  she's  an  Indian  princess  that  passed  out 
about  ten  years  back.  She's  got  a  great  gift  of  diag- 
nosing cases.  She's  helped  my  sitters  a  good  deal." 

"She  told  me  something  about  my  trouble." 

"You  mean  about  the  gray-haired  lady  or  the  child?" 

"Oh,  no,  about  my  leg!" 

"Did  she,  now  ?  Well,  what  did  I  tell  you !  Seems 
to  me  you  do  look  peaked  and  pale,  like  you  was 
enjoying  poor  health.  I  noticed  it  when  you  first 
come  in.  I  don't  believe  your  blood's  good.  Luella 
don't  prescribe  ordinarily,  but  she  can  diagnose  cases 
something  wonderful.  If  I  should  tell  you  how  many 
doctors  in  this  town  send  their  patients  to  me  to  be 
diagnosed  before  they  dare  to  treat  them  themselves, 
you'd  be  surprised.  Why,  only  the  other  day  a  lady 
come  in  here  that  was  give  up  by  four  doctors  for 
cancer,  and  Luella  found  it  was  only  a  boil  in  her 
kidney.  She  went  to  a  magnetic  healer  and  was  cured 
in  a  week.  Now  she's  doing  her  own  work  and 
taking  care  of  her  babies,  keeping  boarders  and  plans 
to  go  camping  this  very  month." 

"Who  was  the  doctor?"  Mr.  Payson  asked,  much 
impressed. 

"Doctor   Masterson.     He's   up   on   Market    Street 


THE    WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        235 

somewhere.  Perhaps  I've  got  a  card  of  his  around. 
I'll  see  if  I  can  find  it." 

She  walked  over  to  the  mantel  and  fussed  among 
its  dusty  ornaments,  saying,  with  apparent  concern,  as 
she  rummaged: 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  send  you  to  Doctor 
Masterson,  after  all.  You  see,  he  ain't  a  man  I  like 
very  much,  and  few  do,  I  find.  He  don't  stand  very 
well  with  the  Spiritual  Society,  nor  with  anybody 
else  that  I  know  of.  He  ain't  quite  on  the  square, 
do  you  understand  what  I  mean?  To  be  perfectly 
frank,  I  think  he's  a  rascal.  He  has  a  bad  reputation 
as  a  man,  but  all  the  same,  he's  a  good  medium,  no- 
body denies  that,  and  he  does  accomplish  some  mar- 
velous cures!  If  Luella  said  your  complaint  was 
serious,  she  knows,  and  it  looks  to  me  like  you  must 
go  to  Doctor  Masterson  or  die  of  it,  for  if  he  can't 
cure  you,  nobody  can.  He's  certainly  a  marvelous 
healer." 

She  found  the  card  at  last,  and  brought  it  over  to 
Mr.  Payson. 

"Here  it  is,  but  you  better  not  tell  him  I  give  it 
to  you,  for  we  ain't  on  very  good  terms,  and  I  wouldn't 
want  him  to  know  that  I  was  sending  him  business." 

As  Mr.  Payson  rose  to  go,  the  medium  stopped  him 
with  a  gesture. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  said,  passing  her  hand  across 
her  forehead.  "Grace  is  here  again  and  she  says :  'Tell 
him  that  we're  doing  all  we  can  on  the  spirit  plane 
to  help  him  and  we  want  him  to  cheer  up,  for  con- 
ditions are  going  to  be  more  favorable  in  a  little  while, 
say,  by  the  end  of  September.' ''' 

She  paused  a  moment  and  then  added : 


236  THE    HEART   LINE 

"Who's  Clytie?  Would  that  be  the  gray-haired 
lady?" 

"What  about  Clytie?"     He  was  instantly  aroused. 

"It  don't  seem  to  me  like  she's  in  the  spirit,  exactly. 
She's  on  the  material  plane.  Let's  see  if  I  can  get 
it  more  definite.  Oh,  Grace  says  she's  your  daughter." 

"That's  true." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?  I  get  it  very  plain 
now.  Grace  says  she's  watching  over  Clytie  and  will 
help  her  all  she  can." 

"Can't  she  tell  me  anything  more  ?" 

The  medium  became  normal.  "No,  I  guess  that's 
about  all  I  can  do  for  you  to-day.  I  think  you  got 
some  good  tests,  specially  when  you  consider  it  was 
the  first  time.  When  you  come  again  I  expect  we 
can  do  better,  and  I'm  sure  we  can  find  that  little  boy 
you  was  interested  in." 

Mr.  Payson  rose  and  stood  before  her,  sedate,  dig- 
nified, and  said,  in  his  impressive  platform-manner: 

"I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  consider  this  very 
remarkable,  Madam  Spoil,  very  remarkable.  I  shall 
certainly  call  again  sometime  next  week.  I  am  much 
interested.  Now,  what  is  the  charge,  please?" 

"Oh,  we'll  only  call  this  three  dollars.  My  price 
is  generally  five,  but  I'm  sort  of  interested  in  your 
case  and  I  want  you  to  be  perfectly  satisfied.  You 
can  just  ring  me  up  any  time  and  make  an  appoint- 
ment with  me." 

She  bowed  him  out  with  a  calm,  pleasant  smile. 

Down-stairs,  Professor  Vixley  was  awaiting  her. 
With  him  was  a  shrewd-eyed,  bald-headed,  old  man, 
with  iron  spectacles,  his  forehead  wrinkled  in  hori- 
zontal lines,  as  if  it  had  been  scratched  with  a  sharp 


THE    WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        237 

comb.  He  had  a  three  days'  growth  of  red  beard  on 
his  chin  and  cheeks,  and  his  teeth,  showing  in  a  rift 
between  narrow,  bloodless  lips,  were  almost  black.  He 
wore  a  greasy,  plaid  waistcoat,  a  celluloid  collar  much 
in  need  of  the  laundry  and  a  ready-made  butterfly 
bow. 

"Why,  how  d'you  do,  Doctor  Masterson?"  said 
Madam  Spoil.  "I  was  hoping  you  would  get  around 
to-day,  so's  we  could  talk  business.  I  suppose  you 
put  him  wise  about  Payson,  Vixley?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Professor.  "We're  goin'  to 
share  and  share  alike,  and  work  him  together  as  long 
as  it  lasts.  How  did  you  get  on  with  him  to-day  ?" 

"Oh,  elegant,"  was  the  answer,  as  she  took  a  seat 
on  the  couch  and  put  up  her  feet.  "I  don't  believe 
we're  going  to  be  able  to  use  Flora,  though." 

Professor  Vixley's  black  eyes  glistened  and  he 
grinned  sensuously.  "Why,  couldn't  you  get  a  rise  out 
of  him?" 

Madam  Spoil  shook  her  huge  head  decidedly.  "No, 
that  sort  of  game  won't  work  on  him.  He  ain't  that 
kind.  I  went  as  far  as  I  dared  and  give  him  a  good 
chance,  but  he  wouldn't  stand  for  it." 

"That's  all  right,  Gert,"  said  Vixley,  "I  ain't  sayin' 
but  what  you're  a  fine  figure  of  a  woman,  but  he's 
sixty  and  he  might  prefer  somebody  younger.  You 
know  how  they  go.  Now,  Flora,  she's  a  peach.  She'd 
catch  any  man,  sure !  She  knows  the  ropes,  too,  and 
she  can  deliver  the  goods  all  right.  Look  at  the  way 
she  worked  Bennett.  Why,  he  was  dead  stuck  on  her 
the  first  time  he  seen  her.  She  put  it  all  over  Fancy 
at  the  first  rattle  out  of  the  box." 

Again  Madam  Spoil's  crisp,  iron-gray  curls  shook  a 


238  THE    HEART    LINE 

denial.  "See  here,  Vixley!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  ain't 
been  in  this  business  for  eighteen  years  without  get- 
ting to  know  something  about  men.  Bennett  was  a 
very  different  breed  of  dog.  I  can  see  a  hole  in  a 
ladder,  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  Pa,yson 
ain't  up  to  any  sort  of  fly  game.  He's  straight,  and 
he's  after  something  different,  you  take  my  word  for 
that.  If  there  was  anything  in  playing  him  that  way, 
I'd  be  the  first  one  to  steer  him  on  to  Flora  Flint, 
but  he'd  smell  a  mice  if  she  got  gay  with  him  and 
he'd  be  so  leary  that  we  couldn't  do  nothing  more 
with  him." 

"Well,  what  did  you  get,  then  ?"  Vixley  asked. 

"Did  you  wire  it  up  for  me?"  Doctor  Masterson 
added. 

"Oh,  I  fixed  you  all  right,  Doc.  He'll  show  up  at 
your  place,  sure  enough.  That  accident  tip  worked 
all  right  and  I  got  him  going  pretty  good  about  his 
leg.  He's  got  your  card  and  I  give  you  a  recom- 
mendation, I  don't  think !  You  want  to  look  out  about 
what  you  say  about  me.  We  ain't  on  speaking  terms, 
you  understand,  and  you're  a  fakir,  for  fair.  You  can 
get  back  at  me  all  you  want,  only  don't  draw  it  hard 
enough  to  scare  him  away." 

Doctor  Masterson  grinned,  showing  his  line  of  black 
fangs,  and  stuck  his  thumbs  into  his  waistcoat  pockets 
placidly.  "Oh,  I'm  used  to  being  knocked,  don't  mind 
me.  I'll  charge  him  for  it.  If  I'm  going  to  be  the 
villain  of  this  here  drama,  I'll  do  it  up  brown." 

"Let's  see  now.  I  s'pose  you  can  probably  hold 
him  about  two  months,  can't  you  ?"  said  Vixley,  strok- 
ing his  pointed  black  beard  arid  spitting  into  the  fire- 
place. 


THE    WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        239 

"Oh,  not  so  long  as  that,"  said  Madam  Spoil.  "We 
want  to  get  to  work  on  that  book  proposition.  A 
month's  plenty  long  enough.  They  ain't  much  money 
in  it." 

"I  don't  know."  Doctor  Masterson  shook  his  head. 
"I've  strung  'em  for  six  months  many's  the  time." 

"Women,  perhaps,  but  not  men,"  said  the  Madam. 

"Well,  maybe.  Men  are  liable  to  be  in  more  of 
a  hurry,  of  course." 

"And  women  ain't  so  much,  with  you,  are  they?" 

The  two  men  laughed  cynically. 

"Oh,  they's  more  ways  to  work  women  than  men, 
that's  all,"  the  doctor  replied.  "They're  more  inter- 
ested in  their  symptoms,  and  they  like  to  talk  about 
'em.  Then,  again,  they's  a  more  variety  of  com- 
plaints to  choose  from.  I  don't  say  I  ain't  had  some 
pretty  cases  in  my  day." 

"Say!"  Madam  Spoil  interposed.  "Who's  having 
a  circle  to-night — Mayhew?" 

"Let's  see — it's  Friday,  ain't  it?  Yes,  Mayhew  and 
Sadie  Crum,"  Vixley  replied. 

"Well,  I  s'pose  we  got  to  put  'em  wise  about  Pay- 
son,"  said  the  Madam.  "He's  got  the  bug  now  and 
he's  pretty  sure  to  make  the  rounds." 

"Can't  we  keep  him  dark?"  said  Vixley.  "He's  our 
game  and  they  might  possibly  ring  him  in." 

"No,  that  won't  do,"  she  answered  emphatically. 
"We  got  to  play  fair.  They've  always  been  square 
with  us,  and  they  won't  catch  him,  I'll  see  to  that. 
Mayhew's  straight  enough  and  if  Sadie  tries  to  get 
gay  with  us,  we  can  fix  her  and  she  knows  it.  And  the 
more  easy  tests  he  gets,  the  better  for  us.  It'll  keep 
him  going,  and  so  long  as  they  don't  go  too  far,  it'll 


240  THE   HEART   LINE 

help  us.  The  sooner  he  gets  so  he  don't  want  to 
impose  test  conditions,  the  better,  and  they  can  help 
convert  him  for  us.  I'll  ring  up  Mayhew  now.  I've 
got  a  good  hunch  that  Payson  will  show  up  there 
to-night." 

She  raised  her  bulk  from  the  couch  and  went  to  the 
telephone  by  the  window,  calling  for  Mayhew's  num- 
ber. When  she  had  got  it,  she  said: 

"Is  this  number  thirty-one  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  I'm  number 
fifteen.  .  .  .  Sure !  Oh,  pretty  good !  .  .  .  I  got 
a  tip  for  you.  I'm  playing  a  six-year-old  for  the  handi- 
cap, named  Oliver.  Carries  sixty  pounds,  colors  blue 
and  gray,  ten  hands,  jockey  is  Payson.  He's  a  ten- 
to-one  shot.  My  wife  Grace  lived  in  Stockton.  Do 
what  you  can  for  me,  but  keep  your  hands  off,  do 
you  understand  ?  Numbers  forty  and  thirteen  are  with 
me  in  this  deal  and  we'll  fix  it  for  you  if  you  stand 
in  ...  yes,  all  right!  If  he  shows  up  let  me  know 
to-morrow  morning,  sure." 

She  turned  to  the  two  men.  "I  guess  that's  all 
right  now." 

"What's  all  that  about  Stockton?"  Vixley  asked. 

"He  lived  there  once  and  there's  something  more 
about  his  wife  or  something.  Mayhew  may  fish  it  out 
of  him,  and  if  he  does  I'll  put  you  on." 

"I  ain't  seen  him  yet,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  I 
guess  I'll  recognize  him.  Sixty  years  old,  Oliver  Pay- 
son,  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  blue  eyes  and  gray 
hair,  six  feet  tall.  Are  you  sure  he's  a  ten-to-one, 
though?  That  cuts  more  ice  than  anything." 

"Oh,  sure!"  said  Madam  Spoil.  "Why,  he  swal- 
lowed the  whole  dose.  He  ain't  doing  no  skeptic  busi- 
ness. He  thinks  he's  an  investigator.  Wait  till  you 


THE   WEAVING   OF   THE   WEB        241 

hear  him  talk  and  you'll  understand.  Not  religious, 
you  know,  but  a  good  old  sort.  He's  caught  all  right, 
and  if  we  jolly  him  along,  we  can  polish  him  off  good." 

"They  ought  to  be  some  good  materializin'  graft  in 
that  wife  proposition.  Grace,  was  it?  We  might  turn 
him  over  to  Flora  for  that."  This  from  Vixley. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that,"  said  Madam  Spoil, 
"but  I  don't  know  whether  he'll  stand  for  it  or  not.  It 
won't  be  anywheres  near  the  snap  it  was  with  Bennett, 
in  full  daylight,  and  we'll  have  to  have  special  players. 
I  believe  I  can  put  my  hands  on  one  or  two  that  can 
help  us  out,  though.  Miss  French  for  one;  she's  got 
four  good  voices.  Then  there's  a  young  girl  I  got 
my  eye  on  that'll  do  anything  I  say.  She's  slim  and 
she  can  work  an  eight-inch  panel  as  slick  as  soap; 
and  she's  got  a  memory  for  names  and  faces  that  beats 
the  directory.  Besides,  I  believe  she's  really  psychic. 
I've  seen  her  do  some  wonderful  things  at  mind-read- 
ing." 

"No,  can  she  really!"  said  Vixley. 

"Oh,  I  used  to  be  clairaudient  myself  when  I  begun," 
said  Madam  Spoil  a  little  sadly.  "I  could  catch  a 
name  right  out  of  the  air,  half  the  time.  I've  gave 
some  wonderful  tests  in  my  day,  but  you  can't  never 
depend  upon  it,  and  when  you  work  all  the  week, 
sick  or  well,  drunk  or  sober,  you  have  to  put  water  in 
the  milk  and  then  it's  bound  to  go  from  you.  You 
have  to  string  'em  sooner  or  later.  This  girl's  a  dandy 
at  it,  though,  but  that'll  all  wait.  There's  enough  to 
do  before  we  get  to  that  part  of  the  game.  I  expect 
I  had  better  go  out  and  see  Sadie  Cmm  myself.  I 
don't  trust  her  telephone.  She's  got  a  ten-party  line, 
what  do  you  think  of  that?" 


242  THE    HEART    LINE 

"A  ten-party  line  don't  do  for  business/'  said  Vixley, 
"but  it's  pretty  good  for  rubberin'.  I've  got  some 
pretty  good  dope  off  my  sister's  wire.  She  spends 
pretty  near  all  her  time  on  it  and  it  does  come  in 
handy." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  Madam  Spoil  looked  disgusted.  "I 
ain't  got  time  to  spend  that  way.  What's  the  use 
anyway  ?  They  ain't  but  one  rule  necessary  to  know  in 
this  business,  and  that  is:  All  men  is  conceited,  and 
all  women  is  vain," 

'That's  right!"  Vixley  assented.  "Only  I  got  an- 
other that  works  just  as  good;  all  women  want  to 
think  they  are  misunderstood,  and  all  men  want  to 
think  they  understand.  Ain't  that  right,  Doc  ?" 

Masterson  grinned.  "I  guess  likely  you  ought  to 
know,  if  anybody  does.  But  I  got  a  little  one  of  my 
own  framed  up,  too.  How's  this?  All  men  want  to 
be  heroes  and  all  women  want  to  be  martyrs." 

The  three  laughed  cynically  together.  They  had 
learned  their  practical  psychology  in  a  thorough  school. 
Madam  Spoil  chuckled  for  some  time  pleasantly. 

"You're  the  one  had  ought  to  write  a  book,  Master- 
son.  I'll  'bet  it  would  beat  out  Payson's !" 

"Lord!"  said  Vixley.  "If  I  was  to  write  down  the 
things  that  have  happened  to  me,  just  as  they 
occurred — " 

"It  wouldn't  be  fit  to  print,"  Madam  Spoil  added. 
Vixley  looked  flattered. 

"How  about  that  pickle-girl?"  he  asked  next. 

"What's  that  ?"  said  Doctor  Masterson. 

"Oh,  a  new  graft  of  Gertie's.    Did  she  come,  Gert?" 

"I  should  say  she  did,"  Madam  Spoil  replied.  "And 
I  got  her  on  the  string  staking  out  dopes,  too.  Why, 


THE   WEAVING   OF  THE   WEB       243 

she's  mixed  up  with  a  fellow  at  the  Risdon  Iron  Works, 
and  she  don't  dare  to  say  her  soul's  her  own  since 
she  told  me." 

"Nothin'  like  a  good  scandal  to  hold  on  to  people 
by,"  Masterson  remarked.  "Where'd  you  get  her?" 

"Oh,  she  floated  in.  I  give  her  a  reading  and  found 
out  she  worked  in  a  pickle  factory  down  on  Sixth 
Street  where  there  are  fifty  or  more  girls.  Soon  as 
I  found  out  the  handle  to  work  her  by,  I  made  her 
a  proposition  to  tip  off  what's  doing  in  her  shop.  She 
makes  her  little  report,  steers  the  girls  up  here,  and 
then  she  comes  round  and  tells  me  who  they  are  and 
all  about  'em." 

"That's  what  I  call  a  good  wholesale  business,"  said 
Vixley  enviously.  "I  wish  I  could  work  it  as  slick  as 
that.  She  uses  the  peek-hole  in  the  screen,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Sometimes,  and  sometimes  she  sits  behind  the  win- 
dow curtain  up-stairs." 

"You  have  to  give  yourself  away,  that's  the  only 
trouble,"  said  Doctor  Masterson. 

"Oh,  no,"  Madam  Spoil  remarked  easily,  "I  just  tell 
her  that  I  can't  always  get  everybody's  magnetism, 
though  of  course  I  can  always  get  hers.  That  gives 
her  an  idea  she's  important,  don't  you  see?  Then  I 
can  always  lay  anything  suspicious  to  the  Diakkas. 
Evil  spirits  are  a  great  comfort." 

"And  anyways,  if  she  should  want  to  tell  anything," 
Vixley  suggested,  "you  can  everlastingly  blacklist  her 
at  the  factory  with  what  you  know." 

"Yes,"  Madam  Spoil  assented ;  "she's  got  a  record 
herself,  only  she  hasn't  got  sense  enough  to  realize  on 
it  the  way  I  do  on  mine.  Is  they  any  bigger  fool  than 
a  girl  that's  in  love?" 


244  THE    HEART   LINE, 

"Only  a  man  that  is,"  Vixley  offered  sagely. 

"Oh,  men!"  she  exclaimed  contemptuously.  "I 
believe  they  ain't  more'n  but  three  real  ones  alive 
to-day!" 

The  Professor's  eyes  snapped.  "Well,  they's  women 
enough,  thank  the  Lord !" 

"Well,"  said  Doctor  Masterson,  "I  got  to  go  to 
work;  I'm  keeping  office  hours  in  the  evening  now 
and  I  have  to  hump.  So  long,  Gertie,  I'll  be  all  ready 
for  Payson,  but  you  and  Vixley  have  got  to  keep 
jollying  him  along.  You  want  me  to  hold  him  about 
a  month?  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,  and  if  I  get  a  lead, 
I'll  let  you  know."  He  shook  hands  and  left  them. 

"I  ain't  so  sure  of  the  Doc  as  I'd  like  to  be,"  said 
Madam  Spoil  after  he  had  gone. 

"Nor  me  neither,"  Vixley  replied.  "We've  got  to 
watch  him,  I  expect,  but  he'll  do  for  a  starter  and  we 
can  fix  him  if  he  gets  funny.  There  ain't  nothin'  like 
cooperation,  Gertie." 

As  Madam  Spoil  sat  down  again  to  open  a  bottle 
of  beer  she  had  taken  from  beneath  the  wash-stand, 
Professor  Vixley  began  to  twirl  his  fingers  in  his  lap 
and  snicker  to  himself. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  Vixley?"  she  asked, 
pouring  out  two  frothing  glasses. 

"I  was  just  a-thinkin'  about  Pierpont  Thayer.  Don't 
you  remember  that  dope  who  went  nuts  on  spiritualism 
and  committed  suicide?" 

"No,  I  don't  just  recall  it;  what  about  it?" 

"Why,  he  got  all  wound  up  in  the  circles  here — Sadie 
Crum,  she  had  him  on  the  string  for  a  year,  till  he 
didn't  know  where  he  was  at.  He  took  it  so  hard 
that  one  day  he  up  and  shot  hisself  and  left  a  note 


THE    WEAVING   OF    THE   WEB        245 

pinned  on  to  his  bed  that  said :  'I  go  to  test  the  prob- 
lem/ Lord!  I'd  'a'  sold  every  one  of  my  tricks  and 
all  hers  to  him  for  a  five-dollar  bill !  Why  didn't 
he  come  to  me  to  test  his  problem?  He'd  'a'  found 
out  quick  enough." 

"Yes,  and  after  you'd  told  him  all  about  how  it  wa~ 
done,  I'll  guarantee  that  I  could  have  converted  him 
again  in  twenty  minutes." 

"I  guess  that's  right,"  said  Vixley.  "Them  that 
want  to  believe  are  goin'  to,  and  you  can't  prevent 
'em,  no  matter  what  you  do.  They're  like  hop  fiends 
— they've  got  to  have  their  dope  whether  or  no,  and 
just  so  long  as  they  can  dream  it  out  they're  happy." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ILLUMINATION 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  virtuous  pride  with  which 
the  civil  engineer,  Jasper  O'Farrell,  set  about  the  lay- 
ing out  of  the  town  of  San  Francisco  in  1846.  Here 
was  the  ideal  site  for  a  city — a  peninsula  lying  like 
a  great  thumb  on  the  hand  of  the  mainland,  between 
the  Pacific  Ocean  and  a  deep,  land-locked  bay,  an  area 
romantically  configured  of  hills  and  valleys,  with  pic- 
turesque mountain  and  water  views,  the  setting  sun 
in  the  west  and  Mount  Diablo  a  sentinel  in  the  east ;  to 
the  northward,  the  sea  channel  of  the  Golden  Gate 
overhung  by  the  foot-hills  of  Tamalpais. 

There  was  still  chance  to  amend  and  improve  the 
old  town  site  of  Yerba  Buena,  the  little  Spanish  set- 
tlement by  the  cove  in  the  harbor,  whose  straight,  nar- 
row streets  had  been  artlessly  ruled  by  Francisco  de 
Haro,  alcalde  of  the  Mission  Dolores.  He  had  marked 
out  upon  the  ground,  northerly,  La  Calle  de  la  Fun- 
dacion  and  the  adjacent  squares  necessary  for  the 
little  port  of  entry  in  1835.  Four  years  later,  when 
Governor  Alvarado  directed  a  new  survey  of  the  place, 
Jean  Vioget  extended  the  original  lines  with  mathe- 
matical precision  to  the  hills  surrounding  the  valley ; 
and  it  would  have  been  possible  to  correct  that  artistic 
blunder  of  the  simple-minded  alcalde.  But  Jasper 
O'Farrell  had  seen  military  service  with  General  Sut- 
ter;  his  ways  were  stern  and  severe,  his  esthetic 
impulses,  if  he  had  any,  were  heroically  subdued 


ILLUMINATION  24? 

Market  Street,  indeed,  he  permitted  to  run  obliquely, 
though  it  went  straight  as  a  bullet  towards  the  Twin 
Peaks.  The  rest  of  the  city  he  made  one  great  checker- 
board, in  defiance  of  its  natural  topography. 

As  one  might  constrict  the  wayward  fancies  of  a 
gipsy  maiden  to  the  cold,  tight-laced  ethics  of  a  puri- 
tanical creed,  so  O'Farrell  bound  the  city  that  was  to 
be  for  ever  to  a  gridiron  of  right-angled  streets  and 
blocks  of  parallelograms.  He  knew  no  compromise. 
His  streets  took  their  straight  and  narrow  way,  up 
hill  and  down  dale,  without  regard  to  grade  or  expense. 
Unswerving  was  their  rectitude.  Their  angles  were 
exactly  ninety  degrees  of  his  compass,  north  and  south, 
east  and  west.  Where  might  have  been  entrancingly 
beautiful  terraces,  rising  avenue  above  avenue  to  the 
heights,  preserving  the  master-view  of  the  continent, 
now  the  streets,  committed  to  his  plan,  are  hacked  out 
of  the  earth  and  rock,  precipitous,  inaccessible,  gro- 
tesque. So  sprawls  the  fey,  leaden-colored  town  over 
its  dozen  hills,  its  roads  mounting  to  the  sky  or  div- 
ing to  the  sea. 

So  the  stranger  beholds  San  Francisco,  the  Improb- 
able. Its  pageantry  is  unrolled  for  all  to  see  at  first 
glance.  Never  was  a  city  so  prodigal  of  its  friendship 
and  its  wealth.  She  salutes  one  on  every  crossing,  wel- 
coming the  visitor  openly  and  frankly  with  her  western 
heart.  In  every  little  valley  where  the  slack,  rat- 
tling cables  of  her  car-lines  slap  and  splutter  over  the 
pulleys,  some  great  area  of  the  town  exhibits  a  rising 
colony  of  blocks  stretching  up  and  over  a  shoulder  of 
the  hill  to  one  side  and  to  the  other.  Atop  every  crest 
one  is  confronted  with  farther  districts  lying  not  only 
beneath  but  opposite,  across  lower  levels  and  hollows, 


248  THE   HEART   LINE 

flanking  one's  point  of  vantage  with  rival  summits. 
San  Francisco  is  agile  in  displaying  her  charms.  As 
you  are  whirled  up  and  down  on  the  cable-car,  she 
moves  stealthily  about  you,  now  lagging  behind  in 
steep  declivities,  now  dodging  to  right  or  left  in 
stretches  of  plain  or  uplifted  hillsides,  now  hurrying 
ahead  to  surprise  you  with  a  terrifying  ascent  crowned 
with  palaces.  Now  she  is  all  water-front  and  sailors' 
lodging-houses ;  in  a  trice  she  turns  Chinatown,  then 
shocks  you  with  a  Spanish,  Italian  or  negro  quarter. 
Past  the  next  rise,  you  find  her  whimsical,  fantastic 
with  garish  flats  and  apartment  houses.  She  lurks 
in  and  about  thousands  of  little .  wooden  houses,  and 
beyond,  she  drops  a  little  park  into  your  path,  discloses 
a  stretch  of  shimmering  bay  or  unveils  magnificently 
the  green,  gently-sloping  expanse  of  the  Presidio. 

No  other  city  has  so  many  points  of  view,  none 
allures  the  stranger  so  with  coquetry  of  originality  and 
fantasy.  Some  cities  have  single  dominant  hills;  but 
she  is  all  hills,  they  are  a  vital  part  of  herself.  They 
march  down  into  the  town  and  one  can  not  escape 
them,  they  stride  north  and  west  and  must  be  climbed. 
The  important  lines  of  traffic  accept  these  conditions 
and  plunge  boldly  up  and  down  upon  their  ways.  And 
so,  going  or  returning  from  his  home,  the  city  is  always 
with  the  citizen — from  Nob  Hill  he  sees  ships  in  the 
harbor  and  the  lights  of  the  Mission;  from  Kearney 
Street  he  keeps  his  view  of  Telegraph  Hill  and  Twin 
Peaks — the  San  Franciscan  is  always  in  San  Francisco, 
the  city  of  extremes. 

Of  all  this  topographical  chaos,  the  most  spectacular 
spot  is  Telegraph  Hill.  To  the  eastward  on  the  har- 
bor side,  it  rises  a  sheer  precipice  over  a  hundred  feet 


ILLUMINATION  249 

high,  where  a  concrete  company  has  quarried  stone  for 
three  decades  despite  protest,  appeal,  injunction  and 
the  force  of  arms.  To  the  north  and  west  the  hill  falls 
away  into  a  jumble  of  streets,  cliff ed  and  hollowed  like 
the  billows  of  the  sea,  crusted  with  queer  little  houses 
of  the  Latin  quarter. 

Francis  Granthope,  after  the  Chinese  supper,  had 
found  himself  swayed  by  an  obsession.  The 
thought  of  Clytie  Payson  was  insistent  in  his  mind. 
She  troubled  him.  He  recognized  the  symptom  with 
a  grim  sense  of  its  ridiculousness.  It  was,  according 
to  his  theory,  the  first  sign  of  love ;  but  the  idea  of 
his  being  in  love  was  absurd.  Certainly  he  desired  her, 
and  that  ardently.  She  stimulated  him,  she  stirred  his 
fancy.  But  he  was  jealous  of  his  freedom;  he  would 
not  be  snared  by  a  woman's  eyes.  Marriage,  indeed, 
he  had  contemplated,  but,  to  his  mind,  marriage  was 
but  a  part  of  the  game,  a  condition  which  would  insure 
for  him  an  attractive  companion,  a  desirable  standing; 
in  short,  a  point  of  vantage.  What  had  begun  to  chafe 
him,  now,  was  a  sort  of  compulsion  that  Clytie  had 
put  upon  him.  Somehow  he  could  not  be  himself  with 
her — he  was  self-conscious,  timid — he  was  sensitive  to 
her  vibrations,  he  was  swayed  by  her  fine  moods  and 
impulses.  Though  the  strain  was  gentle,  still  she 
coerced  him.  He  felt  an  impulse  to  shake  himself 
free. 

In  this  temper,  he  decided,  while  he  was  at  dinner, 
to  see  her,  and,  if  he  could,  regain  possession  of  the 
situation,  master  her  by  the  use  of  those  arts  by 
which  he  had  so  often  won  before.  He  would,  at 
least,  if  he  could  not  cajole  her,  assert  his  independence. 


250  THE   HEART   LINE 

No  doubt  he  had  been  misled  by  her  claims  of  intuitive 
power.  He  would  put  that  to  the  test,  as  well. 

It  was  already  after  sunset  when  he  started  across 
Union  Square.  Kearney  Street  was  alight  with  elec- 
tric lamps  and  humming  with  life.  He  walked  north, 
passing  the  gayer  retail  shopping  district  towards  the 
cheaper  stores,  pawnshops  and  quack  doctors'  offices 
to  where  the  old  Plaza,  rising  in  a  green  slope  to 
Chinatown,  displayed  the  little  Stevenson  fountain 
with  its  merry  gilded  ship.  Here  the  waifs  and  the 
strays  of  the  night  were  already  wandering,  and  he 
responded  to  frequent  appeals  for  charity. 

Beyond  was  the  dance-hall  district,  where  women  of 
the  town  were  promenading,  seeking  their  prey;  sail- 
ors and  soldiers  descended  into  subterranean  halls  of 
light  and  music.  Then  came  the  Italian  quarter  with 
its  restaurants  and  saloons. 

He  paused  where  Montgomery  Avenue  diverged, 
leading  to  the  North  Beach,  consulted  his  watch,  and 
found  that  it  was  too  early  to  call.  He  decided  to 
kill  time  by  going  up  Telegraph  Hill,  and  kept  on  up 
Kearney  Street. 

Across  Broadway,  it  mounted  suddenly  in  an  incline 
so  steep,  that  ladder-like  frameworks  flat  upon  the  rib- 
bed concrete  sidewalks  were  necessary  for  ascent.  Two 
blocks  the  hill  rose  thus,  encompassed  by  disconsolate 
and  wretched  little  houses,  with  alleys  plunging  down 
from  the  street  into  the  purlieus  of  the  quarter;  then 
it  ran  nearly  level  to  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  track 
there  was  up  steps  and  across  hazardous  platforms, 
clambering  up  and  up  to  a  *  steep  path  gullied  by  the 
winter  rains,  and  at  last,  by  a  stiff  climb,  to  the  summit 
of  the  hill 


ILLUMINATION  251 

From  here  one  could  see  almost  the  whole  penin- 
sula, the  town  falling  away  in  waves  of  hill  and  valley 
to  the  west.  The  bay  lay  beneath  him,  the  docks  flat 
and  square,  as  if  drawn  on  a  map,  red-funneled  steam- 
ers lying  alongside.  In  the  fairway,  vessels  rode  at 
anchor,  lighted  by  the  moon.  The  top  of  the  hill  was 
commanded  by  a  huge,  castellated,  barn-like  white 
structure  which  had  once  been  used  as  a  pleasure  pavil- 
ion, but  was  now  deserted,  save  by  a  rascally  herd  of 
tramps.  At  a  near  view  its  ruined,  deserted  grandeur 
showed  unkempt  and  dingy.  By  its  side,  a  city  park, 
crowning  the  crest,  scantily  cultured  and  improved, 
indicated  the  first  rude  beginning  of  formal  arrange- 
ment. Moldering,  displaced  concrete  walls  and  seats 
showed  what  had  been  done  and  neglected. 

He  skirted  the  eastern  slope  of  the  hill,  went  up 
and  down  one-sided  streets,  streets  that  dipped  and 
slid  longitudinally,  streets  tilted  transversely,  keeping 
along  a  path  at  the  top  till  he  came  to  the  cliff. 

Here  was  the  prime  scandal  of  the  town,  naked  in  all 
its  horror.  The  quarrymen  had,  with  their  blasting, 
robbed  the  hill  inch  by  inch,  foot  by  foot  and  acre  by 
acre.  Already  a  whole  city  block  had  disappeared, 
caving  gradually  away  to  tumble  to  the  talus  of  gravel 
at  the  foot  of  the  steep  slope.  For  years,  the  neigh- 
borhood had  been  terrorized  by  this  irresistible,  ever- 
approaching  fate.  The  edge  of  the  precipice  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  the  houses,  bit  off  a  corner  of  the 
garden  here,  ate  away  a  piece  of  fence  there,  till  the 
danger-line  approached  the  habitations  themselves. 
Nor  did  it  stop  there ;  it  crept  below  the  floors,  it 
sapped  the  foundations  till  the  house  had  to  be  aban- 
doned, Then  with  a  crash,  some  afternoon,  the  whole 


252  THE   HEART   LINE 

structure  would  fall  into  the  hollow.  House  after 
house  had  disappeared,  family  after  family  had  been 
ruined.  The  crime  was  rank  and  outrageous,  but  it 
had  not  been  stopped. 

As  Granthope  walked,  he  saw  bits  of  such  deserted 
residences.  Here  a  flight  of  stone  steps  on  the  verge 
of  the  height,  there  fences  running  giddily  off  into  the 
air  or  drain-pipes,  broken,  sticking  over  the  edge.  The 
hazardous  margin  was  now  fenced  off — at  any  moment 
a  huge  mass  might  slip  away  and  slide  thundering 
below.  At  the  foot  of  the  cliff  stood  the  lead-colored 
building  housing  the  stone-crusher,  whose  insatiate 
appetite  had  caused  this  sacrifice  of  property.  It  was 
ready  to  feed  again  on  the  morrow. 

He  walked  to  the  edge  and  looked  down  a  sharp 
incline,  a  few  rods  away  from  the  most  dangerous 
part  of  the  cliff.  He  was  outside  the  fence,  now,  with 
nothing  between  him  and  the  slope.  As  he  stood  there, 
a  dog  barked  suddenly  behind  him.  He  turned — his 
foot  slipped  upon  a  stone,  twisted  under  him,  and  he 
fell  outward.  He  clutched  at  the  loose  dirt,  but  could 
not  save  himself  and  rolled  over  and  over  down  the 
slope.  Forty  feet  down  his  head  struck  a  boulder  and 
he  lost  consciousness. 

He  came  to  himself  with  a  blinding,  splitting  pain  in 
his  head ;  his  body  was  stiff  and  cold  in  the  night 
air.  He  lay  half-way  down  the  slope,  his  hands  and 
face  were  scratched  and  bleeding,  his  clothes  were  torn. 
He  was  motionless  for  some  time,  endeavoring  to 
collect  his  senses,  wondering  vaguely  what  to  do. 
Then  he  stirred  feebly,  tried  his  limbs  to  see  what 
damage  had  been  done  and  found  he  had  broken  no 


ILLUMINATION  253 

bones.  His  ankle,  however,  was  badly  strained,  and 
it  ached  severely.  As  he  sank  back  again,  far  down 
the  hill  towards  the  crusher  building,  a  voice  came  up 
to  him: 

"Francis !     Francis !" 

It  penetrated  his  consciousness  slowly.    Still  a  little 

dazed,  he  rolled  over  and  looked  down  to  the  deserted 

street  below.     He  tried  to  rise  and  his  ankle  crumpled 

.  under  him.    He  answered  as  loud  as  he  could  cry,  then 

lay  there  watching. 

Sansome  Street  lay  bare  in  the  moonlight.  On  the 
near  side  the  hill  sloped  up  to  him  from  the  rock 
crusher.  On  the  other  side  was  a  row  of  gaunt  build- 
ings— a  pickle  factory,  a  fruit-canning  works,  and  so 
on,  to  the  dock.  An  electric  car  flashed  by  and,  as  it 
passed,  he  saw  a  woman  moving  to  and  fro  at  the  foot 
of  the  talus. 

He  sat  up  as  well  as  he  could  on  the  slope  and 
again  shouted  down  to  her.  She  stopped  instantly. 
Then,  waving  her  hand,  she  started  to  scramble  up  the 
slippery  gravel  of  the  hill. 

As  she  ascended,  she  had  to  zigzag  this  way  and 
that  to  avoid  sliding  back.  Part  of  the  time,  she  was 
forced  to  go  almost  on  hands  and  knees.  The  moon 
was  behind  her,  throwing  her  face  into  shadow.  She 
climbed  steadily  without  calling  to  him  again.  When 
she  was  a  few  yards  away,  he  cried  to  her: 

"Miss  Payson!    Is  that  you?" 

"Yes!     Don't  try  to  move,  I'm  coming." 

She  reached  him  at  last  and  knelt  before  him 
anxiously.  Her  tawny,  silken  hair  was  loosened  under 
her  hat  and  streamed  down  into  her  eyes.  She  had 
on  a  red  cloth  opera  cloak  with  an  ermine  collar;  this 


254  THE   HEART   LINE 

was  partly  open,  showing,  underneath,  a  white  silk 
evening  dress  cut  low  in  the. neck.  Her  hands  were 
covered  with  white  suede  gloves  to  the  elbow — they 
were  grimy  and  torn  into  ribbons.  Her  white  skirt, 
too,  was  ripped  and  soiled.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
hair  and  tossed  it  back,  then  took  his  hands  in  hers. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Not  much.  I  believe  I  was  stunned.  I  have  no 
idea  how  long  I've  been  here.  What  time  is  it?" 

"It  is  almost  eleven.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  found  you ! 
I'm  going  to  help  you  down."  She  stooped  lower  to 
assist  him. 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  he  said  in  astonishment. 
"How  in  the  world  did  you  happen  to  come?  What 
does  it  all  mean?"  His  bewilderment  was  comic 
enough  to  draw  forth  her  flashing  smile. 

"We'll  talk  about  that  afterwards.  We  must  get 
down  this  hill  first  Oh,  I  hope  there  are  no  bones 
broken." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  all  right,"  he  insisted,  "but  it's  like  a 
dream!  Let  me  think — I  was  up  on  Telegraph  Hill, 
and  I  slipped  and  fell  over — then  I  must  have  been 
unconscious  until  you  came. — How  did  you  happen  to 
come?  I  don't  understand.  It's  so  mysterious." 

"You  must  get  up  now.  See  if  you  can  walk."  She 
gently  urged  him.  "I'll  explain  it  all  when  you're  safe 
down  there  where  we  can  get  help." 

With  her  assistance  he  raised  himself  slowly,  but  the 
pain  in  his  ankle  was  too  great  for  him  to  support 
his  own  weight.  He  dropped  limply  down  again  and 
smiled  up  at  her. 

"I  think  I  might  make  it  if  I  had  a  crutch  of  some 
kind — any  stick  would  do." 


ILLUMINATION  255 

"Wait,  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  one." 

She  left  him,  to  go  down,  slipping  dangerously  at 
times,  using  her  hands  to  save  herself.  Part-way  down 
she  found  an  old  broom — the  straw  was  worn  to  a  mere 
stub,  and  this  she  brought  back. 

With  its  aid  and  that  of  her  steady  arm,  he  hobbled 
down  foot  by  foot.  He  slid  and  fell  with  a  suppressed 
groan  more  than  once,  but  she  was  always  ready  to  lift 
him  and  support  his  weight  in  the  steeper  descents. 
The  lower  part  of  the  hill  fanned  out  to  a  more  grad- 
ual slope,  where  it  was  easier  going.  They  reached 
the  sidewalk  at  last  and  he  sat  down  upon  a  large  rock 
almost  exhausted. 

Just  then  an  electric  car  came  humming  down  San- 
some  Street.  In  an  instant  she  was  out  on  the  track 
signaling  for  it  to  stop. 

"If  you  pass  a  cab  or  a  policeman,  please  send  them 
down  here!"  she  commanded.  "This  gentleman  has 
met  with  an  accident  and  we  must  have  help  to  take 
him  home." 

The  conductor  nodded,  staring  at  her,  as  she  stood 
in  her  disheveled  finery,  splendidly  bold  in  the  moon- 
light, like  a  dismounted  Valkyr.  The  car  plowed  on 
and  left  them.  Calmly  she  stripped  off  her  slashed 
gloves  and  repaired  the  disorder  of  her  hair.  A  long 
double  necklace  of  pearls  caught  the  moonlight,  and  in 
the  front  breadth  of  her  gown,  a  rent  showed  a  pale 
blue  silken  skirt  beneath.  Granthope,  bedraggled  and 
smeared  with  blood  and  dust,  was  as  grotesque  a  figure. 
The  humor  of  the  picture  struck  them  at  once,  and 
they  burst  into  laughter. 

Then,  "How  did  you  know?"  he  said. 

She    became    serious    immediately.      "It   was    very 


256  THE    HEART    LINE  ' 

strange.  I  was  at  a  reception  with  Mr.  Cay  ley.  I 
happened  to  be  sitting  on  a  couch  by  myself,  when — I 
don't  know  how  to  describe  the  sensation — but  I  saw 
you,  or  felt  you,  lying  somewhere,  on  your  back.  I 
was  so  frightened  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  knew 
something  had  happened,  yet  I  didn't  know  where  to 
find  you.  I  gave  it  up  and  tried  to  forget  about  it, 
but  I  couldn't — it  was  like  a  steady  pain — then  I  knew 
I  had  to  come.  It  seemed  so  foolish  and  vague  that  I 
didn't  want  to  ask  Mr.  Cayley  to  go  on  such  a  wild- 
goose  chase  with  me.  Father  understands  me  better 
and  if  he'd  been  there  I  would  have  brought  him  along. 
So  I  slipped  out  alone,  put  on  my  things  and  took  a 
car  down-town.  I  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  where  to 
get  off — you  should  have  seen  the  way  the  conductors 
stared  at  me ! — and  I  turned  right  down  this  way, 
trusting  to  my  intuitions.  I  seemed  to  be  led  directly 
to  the  foot  of  the  cliff  here  where  I  first  called  you." 

"Yes,  you  called  'Francis,'  didn't  you  ?"  he  said,  look- 
ing up  at  her  in  wonder. 

"Did  I?  I  don't  know  what  I  said — if  I  did  it  was 
as  instinctively  done  as  all  the  rest.  We'll  have  to  go 
into  business  together."  Her  laugh  was  nervous  and 
excited. 

He  frowned.  "Miss  Payson,  I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you — it  was  a  splendid  thing  to  do." 

"Oh,  it  has  been  a  real  adventure — almost  my  first. 
But  it's  not  over  yet.  I  must  take  you  home  now. 
What  a  sight  I  am!  You,  too!  Wait — let  me  clean 
you  off  a  little." 

She  stooped  over  him  and,  with  a  lace  handkerchief, 
lightly  brushed  his  face  free  of  the  dust,  wiped  the 
blood  away,  then,  with  gentle  fingers,  smoothed  his 


ILLUMINATION  257 

black  hair.  Both  trembled  slightly  at  the  contact.  She 
stopped,  embarrassed  at  her  own  boldness,  then  stood 
more  constrained  and  self-conscious,  till  the  rattling 
wheels  of  a  carriage  were  heard.  A  hack  came  clatter- 
ing up  over  the  cobble-stones  and  drew  up  at  the  curb. 
The  driver  jumped  down  from  his  seat. 

There  were  a  few  words  of  explanation  and  direc- 
tion, then  the  man  and  Clytie,  one  on  either  side,  helped 
Granthope  into  the  vehicle.  She  followed  and  the 
cab  drove  off  up-town.  For  a  few  moments  the  two 
sat  in  silence,  side  by  side.  An  electric  lamp  illumi- 
nated her  face  for  an  instant  as  the  carriage  whirled 
past  a  corner.  Her  eyes  were  shining,  her  lips  half 
open,  as  she  looked  at  him. 

The  sight  of  her,  and  the  excitement  of  her  roman- 
tic intervention,  made  him  forget  his  pain.  He  felt 
her  spell  again,  and  now  with  this  appearance  how 
much  more  strongly !  There  was  no  denying  her  magic 
after  such  a  bewildering  manifestation.  The  event  had, 
also,  brought  her  humanly  more  near  to  him — he  had 
felt  the  strong- touch  of  her  hand,  her  breath  on  his 
face — the  very  disorder  of  Jher  attire  seemed  to  increase 
their  intimacy.  He  leaned  back  to  enjoy  the  full  flavor 
of  her  charm.  He  was  suddenly  aroused  by  her 
placid,  even  voice: 

"Mr.  Granthope,  there's  one  thing  you  didn't  tell  me 
the  other  day,  when  you  described  that  scene  at  Madam 
Grant's." 

He  caught  the  name  with  surprise,  remembering  that 
he  had  never  spoken  it  to  her.  In  her  mention  of  it 
he  felt  a  vague  alarm. 

"What?"     He  heard  his  voice  betray  him. 

"That  there  was  a  little  boy  with  her,  that  day." 


258  THE    HEART   LINE 

Clytie  turned  to  him,  and  for  the  first  time  he  felt 
a  sudden  fear  that  she  would  find  him  out. 

"Was  there  a  little  boy  there  ?    How  do  you  know  ?" 

She  kept  looking  at  him,  and  away,  as  she  spoke.  In 
the  drifting  of  her  glances,  however,  her  eyes  seemed 
to  seek  his  continuously,  rather  than  continually  to 
escape.  "Quite  by  accident — never  mind  now.  But 
this  is  what  is  most  strange  of  all — I  didn't  tell  you, 
before — while  I  was  there,  that  time,  so  many  years 
ago — you  know  what  strange  fancies  children  have — 
you  know  how,  if  one  is  at  all  sensitive  to  psychic  influ- 
ence, how  much  stronger  and  how  natural  it  seems 
when  one  is  young — well,  all  the  while,  I  seemed  to 
feel  there  was  some  one  else  there — some  one  I  couldn't 
see !" 

She  was  too  much  for  him,  with  such  intuition.  His 
one  hope  was,  now,  that  she  would  not  plumb  the 
whole  depth  of  his  deceit.  He  managed  his  expression, 
drawing  back  into  the  shadow. 

"Did  you  know  who  it  was,  there?" 

"No — only  that  I  was  drawn  secretly  to  some  one 
who  was  there,  near  me,  out  of  sight.  Of  course,  I've 
forgotten  much  of  the  impression,  but  now,  as  I  remem- 
ber it,  it  almost  seems  to  me  as  if  this  little  boy — who- 
ever he  was — must  be  related  to  me  in  some  vague 
way — as  if  we  had  something  in  common.  I  wish  I 
could  find  out  about  it.  You  know  better  the  rationale 
of  these  things — they  come  to  me  only  in  flashes  of 
intuition,  suddenly,  when  I  least  expect  them." 

He  sought  desperately  to  divert  her  from  the  sub- 
ject, summoning  to  his  aid  the  tricks  experience  had 
taught  him.  First  to  his  hand  came  the  ruse  of  per- 
sonality. 


ILLUMINATION  259 

"You  called  me  'Francis'  before — that  was  strange, 
for  few  people  call  me  that  or  Frank  nowadays — only 
one  or  two  who  have  known  me  a  long  time." 

"Ah,  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying.  It  was 
strange,  wasn't  it?  But  you  won't  accuse  me  of 
coquetry  at  such  a  time,  will  you?  You  were  in  dan- 
ger— I  thought  only  of  that." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  he  said  playfully. 

"Nor  do  I." 

"You'll  call  me  Francis?" 

She  smiled.    "Every  time  I  rescue  you." 

There  was  evidently  no  lead  for  him  there.  He  had 
to  laugh,  and  give  it  up.  Clytie's  mood  grew  more 
serious. 

"Mr.  Cayley  was  telling  me  how  interesting  you 
were  after  the  ladies  had  left;  really,  he  was  quite 
complimentary.  He  told  me  all  about  that  absurd 
Bennett  affair  you  talked  about." 

"Yes,  it  was  an  extraordinary  case."  He  wondered 
what  was  coming. 

"I  mean  the  story  was  absurd  to  hear,  but  I  can't 
help  wondering  what  sort  of  people  they  were  who 
would  deceive  an  old  man  like  that.  It  seems  pitiful 
to  me  that  any  one  could  have  the  heart  to  do  it — and 
for  money,  too." 

Granthope  cursed  his  indiscretion.  Must  she  find 
this  out,  too  ?  Was  no  part  of  his  life,  past  or  present, 
safe  from  her?  If  so,  he  might  as  well  give  her  up 
now.  It  seemed  impossible  to  conceal  anything  from 
her  clear  vision.  But  he  still  strove  to  put  her  off. 

"Oh,  these  people  were  weak  and  ignorant — we 
haven't  all  the  same  advantages  or  the  same  sensitive- 
ness to  honor  and  truth.  They  were  used  to  this  sort 


2<5o  THE    HEART    LINE 

of  thing,  hardened  to  it,  and  perhaps  unconscious  of 
their  baseness  by  a  constant  association  with  such 
deceptions." 

"But  didn't  Mr.  Bennett  have  any  friends  to  warn 
him — to  show  these  people  up  in  their  true  light?" 

"Oh,  that  was  no  use.  It  was  tried,  yes;  that  is, 
he  was  shown  his  carriage,  for  instance,  after  it  was 
sold,  but  he  refused  to  believe  it  was  the  same  one. 
He  confessed  that  it  was  just  like  it,  but  he  knew 
that  his  was  then  on  the  planet  Jupiter.  I  don't  think 
the  mediums  themselves  could  have  convinced  him." 

"Think  of  it !  It  makes  their  swindling  even  worse. 
If  he  had  doubted,  if  he  had  tried  to  trap  them,  it 
wouldn't  be  quite  so  bad,  it  would  have  been  a  battle 
of  brains — but  to  impose  on  such  credulity,  to  make 
a  living  by  it — oh,  it's  unthinkable !" 

"Well,  after  all,  they  made  him  happy.  In  a  way, 
they  were  telling  him  only  pleasant  lies,  as  a  parent 
might  tell  a  child  about  Santa  Claus  and  the  fairies." 

He  could  not  keep  it  up  much  longer.  It  was  too 
perilous ;  and  he  played,  for  her  sympathy.  "After  all, 
I  suppose  my  business  is  about  as  undignified." 

"But  it's  really  a  science,  isn't  it?  Mr.  Cayley  gave 
me  to  understand  that  you  had  a  convincing  theory  to 
explain  all  personal  physical  characteristics." 

"There's  a  little  more  to  palmistry  than  that,  I  think 
— an  instinctive  feeling  for  character." 

"Of  course.  You  must  have  felt  my  personality 
intuitively,  or  you  would  never  have  been  able  to  get 
it  so  well.  But  it  was  most  extraordinary  of  all,  I 
think,  the  way  you  got  my  name.  How  do  you  account 
for  that?" 

He  felt  the  net  closing  about  him. 


ILLUMINATION  261 

"Oh,  I'm  sometimes  clairaudient." 

She  took  it  up  with  animation.  "Are  you?  I  must 
try  to  send  you  a  message !" 

"Haven't  you?"  he  said,  still  attempting  to  keep 
the  talk  less  serious.  "All  day  I  have  heard  you  say- 
ing, 'You  must  learn.'  But  learn  what?" 

"It  seems  so  queer  to  me  that  you  shouldn't  know, 
yourself." 

"Then  tell  me.     Explain." 

"No,  you'll  find  out,  I  think." 

He  waited  a  while,  for  a  twinge  of  pain  gave  him  all 
he  could  do  to  control  himself.  Somehow  it  sobered 
him.  "I  wish  I  dared  to  be  friends  with  you." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  simply  and  he  returned  its 
cordial  pressure.  He  was  sincere  enough,  now.  He 
was  not  afraid  of  mere  generalities. 

"I'm  not  worthy  of  your  friendship,"  he  said.  "I'd 
hate  to  have  you  know  how  little  I  am  worth  it.  If 
you  knew  how  I  have  lived — what  few  chances  I  have 
had  to  know  any  one  really  worth  while.  I've  never 
yet  had  a  friend  who  was  able  to  understand  me." 

"I  have  given  you  my  hand,"  she  replied,  "and  I 
shall  not  withdraw  it.  It  is  my  intuition,  you  see,  and 
not  my  reason,  that  makes  me  trust  you." 

They  relapsed  for  a  while  into  silence.  Then,  as  the 
cab  turned  up  into  Geary  Street,  past  the  electric 
lights,  she  went  on  as  if  she  had  been  thinking  it  out 
to  herself. 

"You  know  what  I  said  the  other  day  about  its 
being  easier  to  say  real  things  at  the  first  meeting.  I 
am  afraid  I  said  too  much  then.  But  I  was  impatient. 
I  felt  that  I  might  never  see  you  again  and  I  wanted 
to  give  you  the  message.  Now,  when  I  feel  sure  that 


262  THE   HEART   LINE 

we're  going  to  be  friends,  I  am  quite  willing  to  wait 
and  let  it  all  come  about  naturally.  The  only  thing 
I  demand  is  honesty." 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

She  laughed  unaffectedly.  "Are  you  finding  it  so 
hard?" 

The  cab  drew  up  to  the  curb  at  the  door  of  his 
rooms.  Immediately  she  became  solicitous,  helping 
him  to  alight.  He  used  the  broom  for  a  crutch,  and, 
scratched  and  torn,  his  clothes  still  stained  with  clay, 
she  in  her  harlequin  of  dirt  and  rags,  they  presented 
an  extraordinary  spectacle  under  the  electric  light,  to 
a  man  on  the  sidewalk  who  was  approaching  leisurely, 
swinging  his  stick.  As  they  reached  the  entrance  he 
drew  nearer,  making  as  if  to  speak  to  them;  instead, 
he  lifted  his  hat,  stared  at  them  and  passed  on.  It 
was  Blanchard  Cayley. 

Clytie's  face  went  red.  Cayley  turned  for  an  instant 
to  look  at  them  again  and  then  proceeded  on  his  way. 
Granthope  did  not  notice  him. 

Clytie  disregarded  his  protest,  and,  saying  that  she 
would  see  him  safely  to  his  room,  at  least,  accompanied 
him  up-stairs. 

As  he  fumbled  for  his  key  in  his  pocket,  the  office 
door  was  suddenly  opened  and  Fancy  Gray  appeared 
upon  the  threshold. 

Her  eyebrows  went  up  and  Granthope's  went  down. 
Her  eyes  had  flown  past  him  to  stare  at  Clytie.  The 
two  women  confronted  each  other  for  a  tense  moment 
without  a  word. 

Fancy  had  taken  off  her  jacket ;  her  hair  was  braided 
down  her  back.  She  wore  an  embroidered  linen  blouse 
turned  away  at  the  neck,  and  pinned  over  her  heart 


ILLUMINATION  263 

was  a  little  silver  chatelaine  watch  with  a  blue  dial. 
It  rose  and  fell  as  she  drew  breath  suddenly. 

"Mr.  Granthope  has  met  with  an  accident,"  Clytie 
announced,  the  first  to  recover  from  the  shock  of 
surprise. 

"I  should  say  he  had,"  was  her  comment,  "and  you, 
too?"  Then  she  laughed  nervously.  "It  must  have 
been  a  draw." 

Clytie  did  not  catch  the  allusion.  "I  happened  to 
find  him  and  brought  him  back,"  she  explained.  "He 
had  fallen  down  the  cliff  on  Telegraph  Hill." 

As  Granthope  limped  in,  Fancy  put  a  few  more  won- 
dering inquiries,  which  he  answered  in  monosyllables. 
Seeing  Fancy  so  disconcerted,  Clytie  left  Granthope  in 
a  chair  and  turned  directly  to  her  with  a  conciliatory 
gesture. 

"We  always  seem  to  meet  in  queer  circumstances, 
Miss  Gray,  don't  we?"  she  said  kindly.  "It's  really 
most  fortunate  that  you  happened  to  be  here  at  work. 
I  don't  quite  know  what  I  should  have  done,  all  alone, 
but  I'm  sure  you  will  do  all  that's  necessary  for  Mr. 
Granthope,  better  than  I.  I  must  hurry  home ;  father 
will  be  expecting  me." 

During  this  speech,  Fancy's  eyes  had  filled,  and  now 
they  shone  soft  with  gratitude. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  can  fix  him  up  all  right.  It's  only 
a  bad  strain,  I  guess." 

Granthope  watched  the  two  women  in  silence. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  go."  Clytie  walked  to  the  mirror, 
smiled  with  Fancy  at  the  image  she  saw  there,  touched 
her  hat  and  rubbed  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  charming  sim- 
plicity. 


264  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I  do  wish  you'd  come  and  see  me  sometime,  Miss 
Gray!"  she  said. 

Fancy  choked  down  something  in  her  throat  before 
she  replied. 

"I  will — sometime — sure.  If  you  really  want  to  see 
me." 

"Yes,  I  really  do."  Clytie  smiled  again.  Then  she 
went  up  to  Granthope.  "Good  night,  Mr.  Granthope, 
I'm  sure  I'm  leaving  you  in  kind  hands.  I  hope  it 
won't  prove  a  serious  injury.  And — remember!" 
Then,  bowing  to  both,  she  left  the  room  and  went 
down  to  her  cab. 

Two  vertical  lines  were  furrowed  in  Granthope's 
brow.  He  turned  to  Fancy  with  a  look  that  barely 
escaped  being  angry. 

"God!     I'm  sorry  you  were  here!" 

"Yes  ?  That's  easily  remedied ;  you  only  have  to  say 
the  word." 

"Too  late,  now!"  His  tone  was  sad  rather  than 
cruel. 

"I  hardly  expected  you  to  bring  home  company — " 
she  began. 

"I'm  sure  it  was  as  much  a  surprise  to  me — " 

"I'm  sorry,  Frank,  but  I  had  to  see  you — Vixley  was 
here  after  you  left." 

He  groaned  with  the  pain  his  ankle  gave  him  and 
she  flew  to  him  and  knelt  before  his  chair. 

"Oh,  Frank,  I'm  so  sorry.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 
First,  let  me  take  off  your  shoe  and  attend  to  your  foot. 
I  can  run  out  and  get  something  to  put  on  it.  It  was 
awkward,  my  being  here — but  I  don't  mind  on  my 
own  account,  so  much.  If  it  embarrassed  you,  forgive 


-     ILLUMINATION  265 

"It's  worse  than  that,"  he  said. 

"You  mean — that  you  care  for  her?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  do  mean — but  you'll  have  to 

go." 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment,  searching  his 

drawn  face. 

"I  will,  just  as  soon  as  I've  bound  up  your  ankle  and 
got  your  couch  ready.  It  won't  take  long." 

"No,  I  can  attend  to  that  myself.  I'll  telephone  for 
a  doctor  and  have  him  fix  me  up.  You  must  go  now." 

"All  right.  Just  wait  till  I  put  on  my  jacket  and  do 
up  my  hair." 

Walking  off,  proudly,  she  opened  the  door  of  the 
closet  and  stood  before  the  mirror  there,  while  he,  a 
limp,  relaxed  figure  in  the  arm-chair,  watched  her  as 
she  unbraided  her  hair  and  combed  it  out  in  a  magnifi- 
cent coppery  cascade  to  her  waist.  Tossing  her  head, 
she  said: 

"  Vixley's  laying  for  you,  Frank !  You'd  better  watch 
out  for  him.  It's  something  shady  about  the  old  man's 
past,  I  believe.  Anyway,  I  hope  you'll  fool  'em, 
Frank!" 

With  this  complication  of  his  position,  he  bent  his 
head  on  his  hand  as  if  he  were  weary.  "I  don't  know 
what  I'm  going  to  do,"  he  said.  "It's  too  much  for 
me,  I'm  afraid." 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Fancy  solicitously. 
"Didn't  I  work  it  right?  Honest,  Frank,  I  didn't  give 
you  away  a  bit — I  didn't  tell  him  a  word.  You  know 
my  work  isn't  lumpy — I  just  pumped  him.  I  beat  him 
at  his  own  game,  and  it  didn't  taste  so  good,  either. 
Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  if  I  did  anything'  to  hurt  you.  I'd 
die  first!" 


266  THE    HEART    LINE 

As  he  did  not  answer  her  she  came  over  to  him  and 
knelt  on  the  floor,  seizing  his  hand.  Her  tears  fell 
upon  it. 

"You've  been  mighty  good  to  me,  Frank,  you  sure 
have !  You  took  me  off  the  streets  when  I  was  starv- 
ing. I  don't  know  whatever  would  have  become  of 
me.  I  suppose  I'd  gone  right  down  the  line,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you.  You're  the  only  friend  I've  got,  and  I 
only  wish  I  could  do  something  to  prove  how  grateful 
I  am.  Honest,  I  thought  I  was  helping  you  out  when 
I  kept  Vixley  here.  You  don't  think — you  don't 
think  I  like  him — do  you?  Don't  say  that,  Frank!" 

She  was  speaking  in  gasps  now ;  her  tears  were  un- 
restrained. Her  hand  clutched  his  so  fiercely  that  he 
could  scarcely  bear  the  pain.  He  did  not  dare  to  look 
at  her. 

"I've  always  been  square  with  you,  Frank,  haven't 
I?" 

He  patted  her  hand  softly. 

"We've  kept  to  the  compact,  haven't  we  ?  The  com- 
pact we  made  at  Alma  ?  You  trust  me,  don't  you  ?" 

"Of  course!  You're  all  right — you're  true  blue. 
I  couldn't  distrust  you.  You'll  always  be  the 
Maid  of  Alma.  It  was  a  game  thing  you  did  for  me. 
Nobody  else  would  have  done  it.  You  have  helped  me, 
but  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  corner  I'm  in."  He  paused 
and  looked  at  her  intensely.  "Fancy — you  haven't 
forgotten — have  you?" 

She  forced  a  trembling  smile,  as  she  said  bravely: 

"  'No  fair  falling  in  love'  ?" 

"Yes." 

She  shook  out  a  laugh  and  stroked  his  hand,  looking 
up  at  him  through  her  tears.  "Oh,  no  danger  of  that, 


ILLUMINATION  267 

Frank.  You  don't  know  me.  I'm  all  right,  sure! 
Only — and  I  owe  you  so  much!  You've  taught  me 
everything.  If  I  could  only  do  something  to  prove 
that  I'm  worth  it." 

"You  can — that's  the  trouble.  I  believe  I'm  almost 
cur  enough  to  ask  it  of  you." 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me,  quick!  You  know  I'd  black 
your  boots  for  you.  I'd  do  anything." 

"Did  you  notice  Miss  Payson's  face  when  she  saw 
you?" 

"Yes."     Fancy  dropped  her  head. 

"I'd  hate  to  have  her  suspect — if  she  thought — " 

"Oh!"  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stood  as  proud 
as  a  lioness.  "Is  that  it?  You  want  me  to  go  for 
good?"  Even  now  there  was  no  anger  in  her  look  or 
tone.  The  little  silver  watch  heaved  up  and  down 
on  her  breast. 

He  sought  for  a  kind  phrase.  "I'm  afraid  it  would 
be  better — it  makes  me  feel  like  a  beast — of  course, 
you  understand — "  his  eyes  went  to  her,  pleading. 

"Then  it  is  Miss  Payson?  Oh,  Frank,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me !  You  might  have  trusted  me !  You  ought 
to  have  known  better!  Haven't  I  always  said  that 
when  the  woman  who  could  make  you  happy  did  come, 
how  glad  I'd  be  for  you?" 

"You're  really  not  hurt,  then?    I  was  afraid — " 

"Poor  old  Frank!  You  goose!  Of  course  not — it 
makes  me  sorry  to  think  of  leaving  you,  that's  all. 
Never  mind — there's  nothing  in  the  race  but  the  finish ! 
I'm  all  right."  She  had  become  a  little  hysterical  in 
her  actions,  but  he  was  too  distracted  to  notice  it. 

"I'll  let  you  have  all  the  money  you  want — I'll  get 
you  a  good  place "  he  began. 


268  THE    HEART   LINE 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly.  "Cut  that  out,  please, 
Frank;  but  thanks,  all  the  same.  If  I  ever  want  any 
money,  I'll  come  to  you.  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  But  not 
now.  Don't  pay  me  to  go  away — that  sounds  rotten. 
I'll  get  a  position  all  right.  Didn't  I  turn  down  that 
secretary's  place  only  last  week?  But  I  guess  I'll  travel 
on  my  looks  for  a  while.  I'm  flush." 

"I  hope  I  can  tell  her  all  about  this,  sometime,"  he 
said  wearily. 

"Bosh !  What's  the  use  ?  Thank  God  some  women 
know  that  some  women  are  square  without  being  told. 
Men  seem  to  think  we're  all  cats.  Even  women  talk 
of  each  other  as  if  they  were  a  different  sort  of  human 
animal.  But  not  Miss  Payson — she's  a  thoroughbred. 
I  can  see  that  all  right.  You  can't  fool  Fancy  Gray 
about  petticoats.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  her.  She's  got 
every  woman  you  ever  had  running  after  you  beaten 
a  mile.  Don't  you  worry — she'll  never  be  surprised 
to  find  that  a  woman  can  be  square.  Well,  I'll  fade 
away  then." 

As  she  talked  she  buttoned  up  her  jacket  and  stuck 
the  hat  pin  in  her  hair.  Now  her  eyes  grew  dreamier 
and  she  went  over  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and 
put  her  hand  on  his  hair  affectionately,  saying : 

"Say,  Frank,  I  don't  know — after  all,  perhaps  some- 
time you  might  just  tell  her  this — sometime  when  the 
thing's  all  going  straight,  when  she's  got  over — well, 
what  I  saw  in  her  eyes  to-night — when  she  finds  out 
what  you're  worth — when  she  really  knows  how  good 
you  are — you  just  tell  her  this — say :  'There's  one  thing 
about  Fancy  Gray,  she  always  played  fair!'  She'll 
know  then ;  but  just  now,  you  can  be  careful  of  her — 
watch  out  what  you  do  with  her,  she's  going  to  suffer 


ILLUMINATION  269 

a  whole  lot  if  you  don't.  You  know  something  about 
women,  but  you'll  find  out  that  when  you're  sure 
enough  in  love  you'll  need  it  all,  and  what  you  know 
isn't  a  drop  in  the  bucket  to  what  you've  got  to  learn. 
I  hope  you'll  get  it  good  and  hard.  It'll  do  you  good. 
You  only  know  one  side  now.  You'll  learn  the  rest 
from  her.  She's  not  the  sort  to  do  things  half-way. 
When  she  begins  to  go  she'll  go  the  limit." 

She  leaned  over  him.  "You  might  give  me  one  kiss 
just  to  brace  me  up,  will  you  ?  It  may  take  the  taste  of 
Vixley  off  my  lips.  Well,  so  long.  Don't  take  any 
Mexican  money !  If  there's  anything  I  can  do,  let  me 
know."  She  rose  and  tossed  a  smile  at  him  with  her 
old  jaunty  grace.  Then  she  patted  him  "on  the  cheek 
and  went  swiftly  out. 


CHAPTER   IX 

COMING  ON 

By  artful  questions,  and  apparently  innocent  remarks 
to  lure  his  confidence,  by  a  little  guess-work,  more 
observation,  and  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  frail- 
ties of  human  nature,  Madam  Spoil  had  plied  Oliver 
Payson  to  good  advantage. 

She  got  a  fact  here,  a  suggestion  there,  and,  one  at 
a  time,  she  arranged  these  items  in  order,  and  with 
them  wove  a  psychological  web  strong  enough  to  work 
upon.  It  was  partly  hypothetical,  partly  proved,  but, 
slender  and  shadowy  as  it  was,  upon  it  was  portrayed 
a  faint  image  of  her  victim — a  pattern  sufficient  for 
her  use.  Every  new  piece  of  information  was  deftly 
used  to  strengthen  the  fabric,  until  at  last  it  was 
serviceable  as  a  working  theory  of  his  life  and  could 
be  used  to  astonish  and  interest  him.  Of  this  whole 
process  he  was,  of  course,  unaware,  so  cleverly  dis- 
guised was  her  method,-so  skilful  was  her  tact.  She 
never  frightened  her  quarry,  never  permitted  him  to 
suspect  her.  Her  errors  she  frankly  acknowledged 
and  set  down  to  the  ignorance  of  her  guides.  She 
had,  indeed,  many  holes  by  which  she  could  escape — 
set  formulae  for  covering  her  petty  failures. 

After  two  or  three  interviews,  she  had  filled  up 
almost  all  the  weak  spots  in  her  web,  and  was  prepared 
to  encompass  her  victim  by  wiles  with  which  to  bleed 
him. 

Mr.  Payson  had  gone  away  from  his  first  interview 
270 


COMING   ON  271 

limping  slightly  more  than  usual,  and  had  talked  con- 
siderably about  his  ailment  to  his  daughter.  Clyde, 
not  knowing  what  had  increased  his  hypochondria, 
was  inclined  to  laugh  at  his  fears  and  complaints.  He 
found  a  more  sympathetic  listener  in  Blanchard  Cay- 
ley,  who  took  him  quite  seriously  and  discoursed  for 
an  hour  in  Payson's  office  upon  the  possibilities  of 
internal  disorders,  such  as  the  medium  had  mentioned. 

The  result  was  a  visit  to  Doctor  Masterson. 

The  healer's  quarters  were  two  flights  up  in  one 
of  the  many  gloomy  buildings  on  Market  Street,  half 
lodging-rooms,  half  offices,  inhabited  by  chiropodists, 
cheap  tailors,  "painless"  dentists  and  such  riffraff. 
The  stair  was  steep  and  the  halls  were  narrow.  The 
doctor's  place  was  filled  with  a  sad  half-light  that 
made  the  rows  of  bottles  on  the  shelves,  the  skull  in 
the  corner  and  the  stuffed  owl  seem  even  more  mys- 
terious. The  room  was  dusty  and  ill-kept;  the  floor 
was  covered  with  cold  linoleum. 

The  magnetic  healer's  shrewd  eyes  glistened  and 
shifted  behind  his  spectacles;  the  horizontal  wrinkles 
in  his  forehead,  under  his  bald  pate,  drew  gloomily 
together  as  Mr.  Pay  son  poured  out  the  story  of  his 
trouble.  For  a  time  the  doctor  said  nothing.  Then  he 
took  a  vial  full  of  yellow  liquid  from  his  table,  car- 
ried it  to  the  window,  held  it  to  the  light,  examined 
it  solemnly  and  put  it  back.  He  sat  down  again  and 
looked  Mr.  Payson  over.  Then  he  tilted  back  in  his 
chair,  stuck  a  pair  of  dirty  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of 
his  plaid  waistcoat,  and  said,  "H'm!"  Finally,  his 
thin  lips  parted  in  a  grisly  smile  showing1  his  blackened 
teeth. 

His  victim  watched,  anxiously  waiting,  with  his  two 


272  THE    HEART   LINE 

hands  on  the  head  of  his  cane.  The  gloom  appeared 
to  affect  his  spirits;  he  seemed  ready  to  expect  the 
worst. 

Doctor  Masterson  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped 
them  on  a  yellow  silk  handkerchief.  "It  looks  pretty 
serious  to  me/'  he  said,  "but  I  calculate  I  can  fix  you 
up.  It'll  cost  some  money,  though.  Ye  see,  it's  this 
way :  I'm  controlled  by  an  Indian  medicine-man  named 
Hasandoka  and  his  band  o'  sperits.  Now,  in  order  to 
bring  this  here  psychic  force  to  bear  on  your  case, 
it's  bound  to  take  considerable  o'  my  time  and  their 
time,  and  I'll  have  to  go  to  work  and  neglect  my  reg'- 
lar  patients.  It  takes  it  out  o'  me,  and  I  can't  do  but 
just  so  much  or  I  peter  out.  I'll  go  into  a  trance  and 
see  what  Hasandoka  has  to  say,  and  then  you'll  be 
in  a  condition  to  know  what  to  decide.  O'  course,  you 
understand,  I  ain't  no  doctor  and  don't  claim  to  be, 
but  I  got  control  of  a  powerful  psychic  force  that 
guides  me  in  my  treatment,  and  I  never  knew  it  to 
fail  yet.  If  my  band  o'  sperits  can't  help  you,  nobody 
can,  and  you  better  go  to  work  and  make  your  will 
right  away.  See?" 

-  Mr.   Payson  saw  the  argument  and  manifested  a 
desire  to  proceed  with  the  investigation. 

The  doctor  loosened  his  celluloid  collar  and  closed 
his  eyes.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  appeared  to  fall 
asleep,  breathing  heavily. 

Then,  through  him,  the  great  Hasandoka  spoke,  in 
the  guttural  dialect  such  as  is  supposed  to  be  affected 
by  the  American  Indian,  using  flowery  metaphors 
punctuated  by  grunts. 

The  tenor  of  his  communication  was  that  Mr.  Pay- 
son  was  undoubtedly  afflicted  with  something  which 


Doctor  Masterson  was  prepared  for  his  victim     Page  273 


COMING   ON  273 

was  termed  a  "complication."  He  went  into  fearsome 
prophecies  as  to  its  probable  progress  downward  to 
the  feet,  upward  to  the  brain  and  forward  to  the 
kidney,  with  minor  excursions  to  the  liver  and  lights. 
The  patient's  spine  was  preparing  itself  for  paralysis ; 
it  seemed  that  death  was  imminent  at  any  moment. 
Hasandoka  expressed  his  willingness  to  accept  the 
case,  however,  and  promised  to  effect  a  radical  cure 
in  a  month  at  most,  if  treatment  were  begun  immedi- 
ately, before  it  was  too  late.  The  cure  would  be 
accomplished  by  massage,  used  in  connection  with  a 
potent  herb,  known  only  to  the  primitive  Indian  tribes. 

After  this  message  Hasandoka  squirmed  out  of  the 
medium's  body  and  the  soul  of  Doctor  Masterson 
squirmed  in  again.  There  were  the  customary  spas- 
modic gestures  of  awakening  before  he  opened  his 
eyes. 

"Well,  what  did  he  tell  you?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Payson  repeated  the  communication  in  a  dis- 
pirited tone. 

"Bad  as  that,  is  it?"  said  Masterson.  "One  foot  in 
the  grave,  so  to  speak.  Well,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'm  interested  in  your  case,  for  if  I  can  go  to  work 
and  cure  you  it'll  be  more  or  less  of  a  feather  in  my 
cap.  See  here ;  I  won't  charge  you  but  fifty  dollars  a 
week  till  you're  cured,  and  if  you  ain't  a  well  man  in 
thirty  days,  I'll  hand  your  money  back.  That's  a 
fair  business  proposition,  ain't  it?  I  guarantee  to  put 
all  my  time  on  your  case." 

Mr.  Payson  gratefully  accepted  the  terms.  A  meet- 
ing for  a  treatment  was  appointed  for  the  next  day. 

This  time  Doctor  Masterson  was  prepared  for  his 
victim. 


274  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I've  been  in  direct  communication  with  Hasan- 
doka,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  posted  on  your  case  now,  and 
have  full  directions  what  to  do.  The  first  thing  is  a 
good  course  of  massage.  Now,  which  would  you  pre- 
fer to  have,  a  man  or  a  woman?  I  got  a  girl  I  some- 
times employ  who's  pretty  slick  at  massage.  She's 
good  and  strong  and  willing  and  as  pretty  as  a  peach, 
if  I  do  say  it — she's  got  a  figger  like  a  waxwork — I 
think  p'raps  Flora  would  help  you  more'n  any  one — " 

Mr.  Payson  shook  his  head  coldly,  saying  that  he 
preferred  a  man. 

"Oh,  o'  course,"  Doctor  Masterson  said  apologeti- 
cally, shrugging  his  shoulders,  "if  you  don't  want  her 
I  guess  I  better  go  to  work  and  do  the  rubbing  myself, 
if  you'd  be  better  satisfied." 

The  Indian  herb  prescribed  by  Hasandoka  was,  it 
appeared,  a  rare,  secret  and  expensive  drug.  The 
doctor's  price  was  ten  dollars  a  bottle,  in  addition  to 
his  weekly  charge  for  treatment.  He  presented  Mr. 
Payson  with  a  bottle  of  dark  brown  fluid  of  abomin- 
able odor. 

The  treatment  went  on  thrice  a  week,  the  massage 
being  alternated  with  trances  in  which  the  doctor, 
under  the  cogent  spell  of  the  medicine  man,  uttered 
many  strange  things.  The  whole  effect  of  this  was  to 
reassure  Mr.  Payson  upon  the  fact  that  powerful 
influences  were  at  work  for  his  especial  benefit. 

Whether  induced  by  Hasandoka's  aid  or  by  Doctor 
Masterson's  suggestion,  an  improvement  in  the  patient's 
mind,  at  least,  did  come.  He  was  met,  the  following 
week,  by  the  magnetic  healer  in  his  rooms  with  a  con- 
gratulatory smile.  Doctor  Masterson  inaugurated  the 
second  stage  of  his  campaign. 


COMING   ON  275 

"Say,  you  certainly  are  looking  better,  ain't  you? 
How's  the  pain,  disappearing,  eh  ?  I  thought  we  could 
bring  you  around.  Yesterday  I  was  in  a  trance  four 
hours  on  your  case  and  it  took  the  life  out  o'  me 
something  terrible.  I  knew  then  that  I  was  drawing 
the  disease  out  o'  you.  You  just  go  to  work  and  walk 
acrost  the  room,  and  see  if  you  ain't  improved.  We 
got  you  started  now,  and  all  we  got  to  do  is  to  keep 
it  up  till  you're  absolutely  well." 

Blanchard  Cayley  also  seemed  interested  when  Mr. 
Payson  told  him  of  the  improvement. 

"You  certainly  are  growing  younger  every  day," 
said  Cayley.  "I  don't  know  how  you  manage  it  at 
your  age,  in  this  vile  weather,  too,  but  I  notice  you've 
got  more  color  and  more  spring  in  you.  You're  a 
wonder !" 

One  afternoon,  during  the  third  week  of  his  treat- 
ment, as  Mr.  Payson  was  seated  in  his  own  office,  the 
door  opened  and  a  chubby,  roly-poly  figure  of  a 
woman,  with  soft  brown  eyes  and  hair,  came  in  timidly 
and  looked  about,  seemingly  perplexed  and  embar- 
rassed. She  walked  up  to  his  desk. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  "but  could  you  tell 
me  where  Mr.  Bigelow's  office  is,  in  this  building? 
I  thought  it  was  on  this  floor,  but  I  can't  find  his 
name  on  any  door." 

He  replied,  scarcely  glancing  at  her:  "Down  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  on  the  left." 

She  stood  watching  him  for  a  moment  as  he  con- 
tinued his  writing,  and  then  ventured  to  say: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  ain't  you  the  gentle- 
man that  come  to  me  some  time  ago  to  have  your  life 
read?" 


276  THE    HEART    LINE 

He  looked  up  now  and  recognized  her  as  the  one 
who  had  initiated  him  into  the  occult  world,  through 
the  medium  of  the  "Egyptian  egg." 

"Why,  yes."  He  smiled  benevolently.  "You're 
Miss  Ellis,  aren't  you?" 

She  seemed  pleased.  "Yes,"  she  answered ;  "I  hope 
you  don't  mind  my  reminding  you  of  it,  but  I  took  an 
interest  in  your  case  more  than  usual,  on  account  of 
your  reading  being  so  different,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
see  you  here.  You're  looking  much  better  than  you 
did  then.  When  you  come  into  my  place,  I  said  to 
myself,  'There's  a  man  that'll  pass  out  pretty  soon 
if  he  don't  take  care  of  himself.'  You  seemed  so 
miserable.  Why,  I  wouldn't  know  you  now,  you're 
so  much  improved.  You  must  have  gained  flesh,  too. 
Well,  I  congratulate  you.  If  you  ever  want  another 
reading,  come  around — here's  my  card,  but  perhaps 
you've  tried  Madam  Spoil  since.  She's  the  best  in 
the  business.  I  go  to  her  myself  sometimes." 

He  walked  to  the  door  with  her  and  bowed  her 
out  politely. 

A  week  after  he  made  another  visit  to  Madam  Spoil. 
The  medium  was  gracious  and  congratulatory. 

"Why,  you  look  like  a  new  man,  that's  a  fact!"  she 
said.  "Between  you  and  me,  I  never  really  expected 
that  you  could  recover,  but  I  knew  if  anybody  could 
help  you  it  would  be  Masterson.  I  suppose  he  come 
pretty  high,  didn't  he  ?  Two  hundred  !  For  the  land 
sake !  I'm  sorry  you  had  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  that 
shark,  but,  after  all,  it's  cheaper  than  being  dead, 
ain't  it?  A  desperate  disease  requires  a  desperate 
remedy,  they  say.  I  wouldn't  take  you  for  more  than 
forty  years  old  now,  in  spite  of  your  gray  hairs. 


COMING   ON  277 

"Now,"  she  continued,  "you've  had  experience  and 
you're  in  a  position  to  know  whether  there's  any 
truth  in  spiritualism  or  not.  No  matter  what  anybody 
tells  you  about  fakes  or  tricks  and  all  that  nonsense — 
I  don't  say  some  so-called  mediums  ain't  collusions — 
you've  demonstrated  the  truth  of  it  for  yourself,  and 
you've  found  out  that  we  can  do  what  we  say.  You 
can  afford  to  laugh  at  the  skeptics  and  these  smart- 
Alecs  who  pretend  to  know  it  all.  What  we  claim  can 
be  proved  and  you've  proved  it.  Lord,  I'd  like  to  know 
where  you'd  be  now  if  you  hadn't.  I've  always  said: 
'Investigate  it  for  yourself,  and  if  you  don't  get  satis- 
faction, leave  it  alone  for  them  that  do.  Go  at  it  in  a 
frank  and  honest  spirit  and  try  to  find  out  the  truth, 
and  you'll  generally  come  out  convinced/  I  don't 
believe  in  no  underhanded  ways  of  going  to  work  at  it 
neither.  If  you  was  going  to  study  up  Christian  Sci- 
ence, or  Mo-homedism,  we'll  say,  you  wouldn't  be 
trying  to  deceive  them  and  giving  false  names  and  all, 
and  why  should  you  when  you  want  to  find  out  about 
the  spirit  world?  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  depend 
upon  the  character  of  the  information  you  get,  to  test 
the  truth  of  what  we  claim.  You  treat  us  square  and 
we'll  treat  you  square.  We  ain't  infalliable,  but  we 
can  help.  Whatever  is  to  be  had  from  the  spirit  plane 
we  can  generally  get  it  for  you." 

"I'm  very  much  interested,"  Mr.  Payson  said. 
"There  does  seem  to  be  something  in  it,  and  I  want 
to  get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  There  are  several  things 
I'd  .like  to  get  help  on,  too." 

"Do  you  know,  I  knew  they  was  something  worry- 
ing you,"  she  replied,  smiling  placidly.  She  laid  her 
fingers  to  her  silken  thorax.  "I  felt  your  magnetism 


278  THE   HEART    LINE 

right  here  when  you  came  in,  and  I  got  a  feeling  of 
unpleasantness  or  worry.  It  ain't  about  a  little  thing 
either;  it's  an  important  matter,  now,  ain't  it?" 

Mr.  Payson,  affected  by  her  sympathy,  admitted 
that  it  was.  Under  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  his  cold  eyes 
watched  her  anxiously,  as  if  gazing  at  one  who  might 
wrest  secrets  from  him.  His  belief  in  her  had  in- 
creased with  every  sitting,  so  that  now  the  old  man, 
gray  and  bald,  in  his  judicial  frock-coat,  lost  some- 
thing of  his  influential  manner  and  became  more  like 
a  child  before  his  teacher,  swayed  by  every  word  that 
fell  from  her  lips. 

Her  manner  was  half  patronizing,  half  domineer- 
ing. "What  did  I  tell  you?  You  feel  as  if,  well, 
you  don't  quite  know  what  to  do,  and  you're  saying  to 
yourself  all  the  time,  'Now,  what  shall  I  do?'  That's 
just  the  condition  I  get." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  help  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know ;  I'll  try.  I  ain't  feeling  very  recep- 
tive to  spirit  influence  to-day;  I  guess  I  overeat  my- 
self some ;  but  then  again,  I  might  be  very  successful ; 
there's  no  telling.  You  just  let  me  hold  your  hands 
a  few  minutes  and  I  can  see  right  off  whether  con- 
ditions are  favorable  or  not." 

He  did  so.  Suddenly  she  turned  her  head  to  one 
side  and  spoke  as  if  to  an  invisible  person  beside  her. 

"Oh,  she's  here,  is  she?  What  is  it?  She  says  she 
can't  find  him?  Well,  what  about  him?  What? 
Shall  I  tell -him  that?" 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Luella  is  here  and  she  says  to  tell  you  that  Felicia 
wants  to  give  you  a  message,  Do  you  understand  who 
1  mean?" 


COMING   ON  279 

"Yes,  I  know.  She's  the  lady  you  spoke  to  me 
about  before,  with  the  white  hair." 

"Would  her  name  be  Felicia  Grant?" 

He  assented  timidly,  as  if  fearing  to  acknowledge  it. 

"Well,  Felicia  says  she  has  found  the  child — her 
child,  the  one  that  was  lost.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  yes.    Goon!" 

"Really,  I  don't  like  to  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Payson — " 

"Tell  anything." 

Madam  Spoil  dropped  her  voice,  as  if  fearful  of 
being  overheard.  "You  was  in  love  with  her." 

"Yes."    He  eyed  her  glassily. 

"And  you  was  the  father  of  the  child?" 

He  nodded,  still  staring. 

Madam  Spoil  smiled  complacently.  "Well,  Felicia 
says  she  has  found  the  boy,  and  she's  going  to  bring 
him  to  you  as  soon  as  conditions  are  favorable.  She 
can't  do  it  yet;  the  time  ain't  come  for  it.  That's  all 
I  can  get  from  her.  But  Luella  says  you're  worried 
about  a  book,  and  she  wants  to  help  you." 

"How  can  she  help?" 

"Wait  a  minute."  Madam  Spoil  smoothed  her  fore- 
head with  both  hands  for  a  while,  then  went  on :  "It 
seems  that  she  can't  work  through  me  so  well,  it  being 
what  you  might  call  a  business  affair,  and  she  rec- 
ommends that  you  try  some  one  else,  while  I'll  try 
to  get  the  boy.  I  think  a  physical  medium  could  help 
you  more.  There's  Professor  Vixley;  he's  something 
wonderful  in  a  business  way.  I  confess  I  can't  com- 
prehend it.  Are  you  selling  books?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"Well,  whatever  it  is,  Vixley's  the  one  to  go  to. 
He'll  do  well  by  you  and  you  can  trust  him.  I'll  just 


28o  THE   HEART   LINE 

write  down  his  address ;  you  go  to  see  him  and  tell 
him  I  sent  you,  and  I  guarantee  he'll  give  satisfaction. 
About  the  child,  now,  we'll  have  to  wait.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  could  be  developed  so  you  could  handle 
the  thing  alone.  You've  got  strong  mediumistic 
powers,  only  they're  what  you  might  call  asleep  and 
dormant.  If  you  could  come  to  me  oftener  we  might 
be  able  to  produce  phenomena,  for  you're  sensitive, 
only  you  don't  know  how  to  put  your  powers  to  the 
right  use.  You  could  join  a  circle,  I  suppose,  but 
the  quickest  way  is  to  have  sittings  with  me,  private." 
The  old  man  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped  off 
a  mist.  His  hand  was  trembling.  "I  might  want  to 
try  it  later,"  he  said  at  last,  "but  I'm  not  quite  ready 
to,  yet — I  want  to  think  it  over.  If  you  really  think 
that  this  Vixley  can  help  about  the  book,  I'll  look  him 
up  first.  I  want  it  to  be  a  success,  and  I  am  a  bit 
worried  about  it." 

When  he  reached  home  he  went  into  the  living- 
room,  to  find  Blanchard  Cayley  sitting  there  at  ease, 
bland,  suave  and  nonchalant.  Clytie  had  not  yet  re- 
turned for  dinner.  Mr.  Payson  shook  his  hand  cor- 
dially. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Blanchard.  Been  looking  over 
that  last  chapter  of  mine?  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  haven't  had  time  to  read  it  yet.  I've  been  expect- 
ing Cly  home  any  minute." 

"How  are  you  getting  on  with  her?  Is  she  still 
skittish?" 

"Oh,  it'll  come  out  all  right,  I  expect,"  the  young 
man  said  carelessly. 

"I  hope  so!     She's  a  good  girl.     I  know  she'll  see 


COMING   ON  281 

it  my  way  in  the  end — you  just  hold  on  and  be  nice 
to  her.  You  know  I'm  on  your  side.  I'd  give  a  good 
deal  to  see  Cly  married  to  a  good  man  like  you. 
Strange,  she  doesn't  seem  to  take  any  interest  in  my 
work  at  all.  If  I  didn't  have  you  to  talk  to,  I  don't 
know  what  I'd  do.  Suppose  I  read  you  that  last  chap- 
ter while  we're  waiting  for  her.  I'd  like  to  get  your 
criticism  of  it.  That  trade  dollar  material  has 
helped  me  immensely." 

For  half  an  hour,  while  Mr.  Payson  read  the  driest 
of  dry  manuscripts,  Blanchard  Cayley  yawned  behind 
his  hand  or  nodded  wisely,  with  an  approving  word 
or  two.  The  old  man  had  pushed  up  his  spectacles 
over  his  forehead  and  held  the  sheets  close  to  his  eyes. 
He  read  in  a  mellow,  deep  voice,  but  it  was  the  voice 
of  a  pedant. 

"There,"  he  said  at  last,  stacking  up  the  scattered 
papers.  "I  guess  that  will  open  their  eyes,  won't  it?" 

"It's  great ;  that  book  will  make  a  sensation." 

"Well,  it  isn't  finished  yet,  and  what's  to  come  will 
be  better  than  what  I've  done.  I'm  on  the  track  of 
something  that  may  help  it  a  good  deal." 

"What's  that?"  said  Cayley  perfunctorily. 

"See  here,"  Mr.  Payson  drew  his  chair  nearer  and 
shook  his  pencil  at  the  young  man.  "I've  had  some 
wonderful  experiences  lately.  You  may  not  believe  it, 
but  I  tell  you  there's  something  in  this  spiritualistic 
business.  I've  been  investigating  it  for  a  month  now 
all  alone,  and  I'm  thoroughly  convinced  that  these 
mediums  do  have  some  sort  of  power  that  we  don't 
understand." 

"Really?"  Cayley  was  beginning  to  be  interested. 
"I  knew  you  had  always  been  an  agnostic,  but  I  had 


282  THE   HEART   LINE 

no  idea  that  you  had  gone  into  this  sort  of  thing. 
Have  you  struck  anything  interesting?" 

"I  certainly  have.  I  went  into  it  in  a  scientific  spirit, 
as  a  skeptic,  pure  and  simple,  but  I've  received  some 
wonderful  tests.  Why,  they  told  me  my  name  the 
very  first  thing  and  a  lot  about  my  life  that  they  had 
no  possible  way  of  finding  out.  The  trouble  is,  they 
know  too  much." 

Cayley  laughed.  "Found  out  about  your  wild  oats, 
I  suppose?" 

Mr.  Pay  son  frowned  at  this  frivolity.  "There  are 
things  they've  told  me  that  no  one  living  could  pos- 
sibly know.  Whether  it's  done  through  spirits  or  not, 
it's  mysterious  business.  You  ought  to  go  to  a  seance 
and  see  what  they  can  do." 

"I'd  hate  to  have  them  tell  my  past,"  Cayley  said 
jocosely,  "but  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  them. 
They're  a  gang  of  fakirs." 

"They're  pretty  sharp,  if  they  are.  I  haven't  lived 
fifty  years  in  the  West  to  be  taken  in  as  easily  as  that. 
I  ought  to  know  something  about  men  by  this  time. 
Why,  see  here!  You  know  what  trouble  I  had  with 
my  leg?  It  was  something  pretty  serious.  Well,  look 
at  me  now.  You've  noticed  the  change  yourself.  I 
went  to  a  medium  and  now  I'm  completely  cured. 
That's  enough  to  give  any  one  confidence,  isn't  it? 
It's  genuine  evidence." 

Cayley  agreed  with  a  solemn  nod.  "But  what  about 
the  book?" 

"Why,  if  they  can  influence  the  right  forces  so  that 
it'll  be  a  success,  why  shouldn't  I  give  them  a  trial? 
Look  at  hypnotism!  Look  at  wireless  telegraphy! 
For  that  matter,  look  at  the  telephone!  Fifty  years 


COMING   ON  283 

ago  no  one  would  believe  that  such  things  were  pos- 
sible. It  may  be  the  same  with  this  power,  whatever 
it  is,  spirits  or  not.  I'm  an  old  man,  but  I  keep  up  with 
the  times.  I'm  not  going  to  set  myself  up  for  an 
authority  and  say,  because  a  thing  hasn't  seemed 
probable  to  me,  that  I  know  all  about  the  mysterious 
forces  of  nature.  I've  come  to  believe  that  there  are 
powers  inherent  in  us  that  may  be  developed  success- 
fully." 

The  incipient  smile,  the  attitude  of  bantering  pro- 
test had  faded  from  Cayley's  face, » as  the  old  man 
spoke.  He  listened  sedately.  Oliver  Payson  was  a 
rich  man.  He  had  an  attractive,  marriageable  daugh- 
ter. Blanchard  Cayley  was  poor,  single  and  without 
prospects. 

"Of  course,  there's  much  we  don't  yet  understand," 
he  said  gravely.  "One  hears  all  sorts  of  tales — there 
must  be  some  foundation  to  them." 

"That's  so — why,  just  look  at  Cly!  She's  had 
queer  things  happen  to  her  ever  since  she  was  a  child." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that's  why  she's  so  interested  in 
this  palmist  person;  though  I  confess  I  don't  take 
much  stock  in  him." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Mr.  Payson  demanded. 

"Why,  I  thought  of  course  you  knew.  Granthope, 
the  palmist — you  know,  the  fellow  everybody's  taking 
up  now — he  has  been  here,  hasn't  he?  I  had  an  idea 
that  Cly  had  taken  rather  a  fancy  to  him." 

"He  was  here?"  Mr.  Payson  seemed  much  sur- 
prised. 

"Why,  I  wouldn't  have  spoken  of  it  for  the  world 
if  I  had  known  you  didn't  know — but  I've  seen  her 
with  him  several  times?  and  I  thought,  of  course — " 


284  THE    HEART   LINE 

Cayley  threw  it  out  apologetically  in  apparent  con- 
fusion at  his  indiscretion. 

Mr.  Payson  stared.  "Granthope,  did  you  say?  I 
believe  I  have  heard  of  him.  Cly  and  a  common 
palmist?  I  can't  believe  it.  What  can  she  want  of  a 
charlatan  like  that?" 

"I  was  sorry  to  see  it  myself,"  Cayley  admitted, 
"but  I  suppose  she  knows  what  she's  doing.  The 
man's  notorious  enough.  Only,  she  ought  to  be  care- 
ful." 

"I  won't  have»it!"  Mr.  Payson  began  to  storm. 
"Reading  palms  for  a  lot  of  silly  women  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  spiritualism.  I  don't  mind  her 
going  to  see  him  once  for  the  curiosity  of  the  thing, 
but  I  won't  have  him  in  the  house.  I'll  put  a  stop  to 
that  in  a  hurry.  You  say  you've  seen  them  together? 
Where?" 

"Oh,  I  think  it  was  probably  an  accidental  meeting," 
he  said.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  anything  about  it, 
Mr.  Payson.  Very  likely  it  doesn't  mean  anything 
at  all.  Tell  me  about  this  fellow  you  spoke  of  going 
to.  Do  you  think  he's  all  right?" 

"I'll  soon  find  out  if  he  isn't— trust  me !"  Mr.  Pay- 
son  wagged  his  head  wisely.  "His  name  is  Professor 
Vixley,  and  I've  heard  he's  a  very  remarkable  man. 
I'm  going  to  see  him  next  week  and  see  what  he  can 
do  for  me.  I'm  not  one  to  be  fooled  by  any  claptrap ; 
I  intend  to  sift  this  thing  to  the  bottom." 

"How  do  you  intend  to  go  about  it?"  Cayley  asked. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do.  I'd  ask  him  to  answer  a 
few  definite  questions.  If  he  can  do  that,  ^t'll  be  a 
pretty  good  test,  even  if  it  is  only  thought-reading." 

"If  there's  anything  in  thought  transference  there 


COMING  ON  285 

may  be  something  in  spiritualism,  too.  One's  as  tin- 
explainable  as  the  other.  See  here!  Suppose  I  ask 
him  something  that  I  don't  know  the  answer  to  myself 
- — wouldn't  that  prove  it  is  not  telepathy?" 

"I  should  say  so;  but  what  could  you  ask?" 

Mr.  Payson  had  arisen,  and  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  He 
stopped  to  deliberate  beside  the  bookcase,  then  he 
took  down  a  volume  at  random.  "Suppose  I  ask  him 
what  the  first  word  is  on  page  one  hundred  of  this 
book." 

He  looked  over  at  Cayley,  then  down  at  the  title  of 
the  book. 

"The  Astrology  of  the  Old  Testament — queer  I 
should  put  my  hand  on  that!  I'll  try  it.  I  won't 
look  at  the  page  at  all."  He  put  the  book  back  on  the 
shelf.  "Can't  you  suggest  something?  Suppose  you 
give  me  a  question  that  you  know  the  answer  of  and 
I  don't." 

Blanchard  Cayley  sought  for  an  idea,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ceiling.  Then  he  said  slowly:  "I  used  to  know 
a  girl  once  in  Sacramento  who  lived  next  door  to  me. 
Try  Vixley  on  her  name,  why  don't  you  ?" 

"Good !     I'll  do  it.     Now  one  more." 

"You  might  ask  him  the  number  of  your  watch." 

"That's  a  good  idea;  then  I  can  corroborate  that 
on  the  spot." 

"You'd  better  let  me  see  if  there's  one  there, 
though,"  Cayley  suggested.  "I  believe  sometimes  they 
are  not  numbered.  Just  let  me  look." 

Mr.  Payson  took  out  his  watch  and  handed  it  to  the 
young  man,  who  opened  the  back  cover  and  inspected 
the  works.  He  noted  the  number,  took  a  second 


2&6  THE   HEART   LINE 

glance  at  it  and  then  snapped  the  cover  shut.  "All 
right,  if  he  can  tell  that  number,  he's  clever."  He 
handed  it  back  to  Mr.  Payson.  "When  did  you  say 
you  were  going  to  see  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"Next  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  I  expect,"  was  the 
reply.  "I've  got  to  go  up  to  Stockton  to-morrow, 
and  I  may  be  gone  two  or  three  days  attending  to 
some  business.  By  the  by,  Cayley,  I  heard  rather  a 
queer  story  last  week  when  I  was  up  there.  You're 
interested  in  these  romantic  yarns  of  California;  per- 
haps you'd  like  to  hear  this." 

"Certainly,  I  should.  It  may  do  for  my  collection 
of  Improbabilities." 

"Well,  I  met  the  cashier  of  the  Savings  Bank  up 
there — he's  been  with  the  bank  nearly  thirty  years  and 
he  told  me  the  story.  It  seems  one  noon,  about  twenty 
years  ago,  while  he  was  alone  in  the  bank,  a  little  boy 
of  seven  or  eight  years  of  age  came  in,  and  said  he 
wanted  to  deposit  some  money.  The  cashier  asked 
him  how  much  he  had,  thinking,  of  course,  that  he'd 
hand  out  a  dollar  or  two.  The  boy  put  a  packet 
wrapped  in  newspaper  on  the  counter,  and  by  Jove ! 
if  there  wasn't  something  over  five  thousand  dollars, 
in  hundred-dollar  greenbacks!  What  do  you  think 
of  that?  The  cashier  asked  the  boy  where  he  got  so 
much  money,  suspecting  that  it  must  have  been  stolen. 
The  boy  wouldn't  tell  him.  The  cashier  started  round 
the  counter  to  hold  the  boy  till  he  could  investigate, 
and,  if  necessary,  hand  him  over  to  the  police.  The 
little  fellow  saw  him  coming,  got  frightened,  and  ran 
out  the  door,  leaving  the  money  on  the  counter.  He 
has  never  been  heard  from  since." 

"Well,  what  became  of  the  money,  then?" 


COMING   ON  287 

"Why,  it  had  to  be  entered  as  deposited,  of  course. 
The  boy  had  written  a  name — the  cashier  doesn't 
know  whether  it  was  the  boy's  own  name  or  not — on 
the  margin  of  the  newspaper,  and  the  account  stands 
in  that  name,  awaiting  a 'claimant." 
"What  was  the  name?" 

"The  cashier  wouldn't  tell  me,  naturally.  It  has 
been  kept  a  secret.  With  the  compound  interest,  the 
money  now  amounts  to  something  like  double  the 
original  deposit." 

"It's  a  pity  I  don't  know  the  name ;  I  might  prove 
an  alibi." 

"Oh,  I  forgot — and  it  really  is  the  point  of  the 
whole  story.  The  package  was  wrapped  in  a  copy  of 
Harper's  Weekly,  and  the  boy,  whose  hands  were 
probably  dirty,  had  happened  to  press  a  perfect  thumb- 
print  on  the  smooth  paper.  Of  course,  that  would 
identify  him,  and  if  any  one  could  prove  he  was  in 
Stockton  at  that  time,  give  the  name  and  show  that 
his  thumb  was  marked  like  that  impression,  the  bank 
would  have  to  permit  him  to  draw  that  account." 

"That  lets  me  out,"  said  Cayley,  "unless  that  par- 
ticular thumb-print  happens  to  show  a  banded,  duplex, 
spiral  whorl." 

"What  in  the  world  do  you  mean?"  Payson  asked. 
"Why,  you  know  thumb-prints  have  all  been  classi- 
fied by  Galton,  and  every  possible  variation  in  the  form 
of  the  nucleal  involution  and  its  envelope  has  been 
named  and  arranged." 

"I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Payson.  "But  I  did  know 
there  were  no  two  thumbs  alike.  That's  the  way  they 
identified  my  partner  when  he  was  drowned.  He  was 
interested  in  the  subject,  having  read  of  the  Chinese 


288  THE    HEART    LINE 

method,  and  he  happened  to  have  a  collection  of 
thumb-prints,  including  his  own,  of  course,  done  in 
India  ink.  His  body  was  so  disfigured  and  eaten  by 
fishes  that  he  couldn't  be  recognized  until,  suspecting 
it  might  be  he,  we  proved  it  by  his  own  marks." 

"I  didn't  know  you  ever  had  a  partner." 

"Oh,  that  was  years  ago,  soon  after  Cly  was  born. 
His  name  was  Ichabod  Riley.  That  was  a  queer  story, 
too.  His  wife  was  a  regular  Jezebel,  Madge  Riley 
was,  and  there's  no  doubt  she  poisoned  her  first  two 
husbands.  She  was  arrested  and  tried  for  the  murder 
of  the  second,  but  the  jury  was  hung,  and  she  wasn't. 
Ichabod  was  supposed  to  have  been  accidentally 
drowned  off  Black  Point,  but  I  have  good  reason  to 
believe  that  he  committed  suicide  on  account  of  her. 
He  was  afraid  of  being  poisoned  as  well.  She  is  sup- 
posed to  have  killed  her  own  baby,  too. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Payson  added,  rising,  "I've  got  to  go 
up-stairs  and  get  ready  for  dinner.  You'll  stay,  won't 
you  ?" 

"I'll  wait  till  Cly  gets  home,  at  any  rate,  but  I'll  not 
promise  to  dine." 

The  old  man  went  up-stairs,  leaving  Cayley  alone 
beside  the  bookcase. 

When  he  returned  he  found  Cayley,  cool  and  suave 
as  ever.  Clytie  was  with  him,  standing  proudly  erect 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  a  red,  angry  spot  on 
either  cheek.  She  held  no  dreamy,  listless  pose  now ; 
something  had  evidently  fully  awakened  her,  stinging 
her  into  an  unaccustomed  fervor.  Her  slender  white 
hands  were  clasped  in  front  of  her,  her  bosom  rose 
and  fell.  Her  lips  were  tightly  closed. 

Mr.  Payson,  near-sighted  and  egoistic,  was  oblivious 


COMING   ON  289 

of  these  stormy  signs,  and  remarked  genially:  "You're 
going  to  stay  to  dinner,  aren't  you,  Blanchard?" 

Blanchard  Cayley  drawled,  "I  think  not,  Mr.  Pay- 
son;  I'll  be  going  on,  if  you'll  excuse  me,"  smiling, 
"and  if  Cly  will." 

"Don't  let  us  keep  you  if  you  have  another  appoint- 
ment," she  said,  without  looking  at  him. 

He  left  after  a  few  more  words  with  the  old  man, 
who  began  at  last  to  smell  something  wrong. 

"What's  the  matter,  Cly?"  he  asked. 

She  had  sat  down  and  was  pretending  to  read.  Now 
she  looked  up  casually: 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  father,  except  that  he  was  im- 
pertinent enough  to  question  me  about  something  that 
didn't  concern  him." 

"H'm !"  Mr.  Payson  took  a  seat  with  a  grunt  and 
unfolded  his  newspaper.  "I'm  sorry  you  two  don't 
get  on  any  better." 

"We'd  get  on  well  enough  if  he'd  only  believe  that 
when  I  say  'no'  I  mean  it." 

He  stared  at  her,  suddenly  possessed  by  a  new 
thought  "Is  there  anybody  else  in  the  field,  Cly?" 

"There  are  many  other  men  that  I  prefer  to  Blanch- 
ard Cayley." 

"What  is  this  about  your  being  with  this  palmist 
chap?" 

"Did  Blanchard  tell  you  that?"  she  asked  with  ex- 
quisite scorn. 

"Have  you  seen  much  of  this  Granthope  ?" 

"I've  seen  him  four  times." 

"And  you  have  invited  him  to  my  house?" 

"He  has  been  here." 

Mr.  Payson  rose  and  shook  his  eye-glasses  at  her. 


THE   HEART   LINE 


"I  must  positively  forbid  that!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
won't  have  you  receiving  that  fellow  here.  From  what 
I  hear  of  him  he's  a  fakir,  and  I  won't  encourage  him 
in  his  attempts  to  get  into  society  at  my  expense." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  forbid  him  the  house, 
father?  Isn't  that  a  bit  melodramatic?-  I  wouldn't 
make  a  scene  about  it.  I  am  twenty-seven  and  I'm 
not  absolutely  a  fool.  I  think  you  can  trust  me." 

"Then  what  have  you  been  doing  with  him  ?  What 
does  it  all  mean,  anyway?" 

"As  soon  as  I  know  what  it  means,  I'll  tell  you. 
At  present,  I  think  we  had  better  not  discuss  Mr. 
Granthope." 

He  blustered  for  a  while  longer,  iterating  his  re- 
proaches, then  simmered  down  into  a  morose  con- 
dition, which  lasted  through  dinner.  Clytie  knew 
better  than  to  discuss  the  subject  with  him.  Her 
calmness  had  returned,  though  she  kept  her  color  and 
did  not  talk.  The  two  went  into  the  library  and  read. 

Shortly  after  eight  o'clock  the  door-bell  rang.  As 
it  was  not  answered  promptly,  Mr.  Payson,  still  nerv- 
ous, irascible  and  impatient,  went  out  into  the  hall, 
growling  at  the  servant's  delay. 

He  opened  the  door,  to  see  Francis  Granthope, 
rather  white-faced  under  his  black  hair,  supporting 
himself  on  crutches. 

"Is  Miss  Payson  at  home?"  he  asked,  Uking  off 
his  hat. 

"Yes,  she  is.  Won't  you  step  in  ?  What  name  shall 
I  give  her,  please?"  Mr.  Payson  spoke  hospitably. 

"Thank  you.    Mr.  Granthope,"  was  the  answer. 

The  old  man  turned  suddenly  and  returned  his  visi- 
tor's hat. 


COMING   ON  291 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  sternly,  "but  Miss  Pay- 
son  is  not  at  home — for  you — and  I  don't  intend  that 
she  ever  shall  be.  I  have  heard  enough  about  you, 
Mr.  Granthope,  and  I  desire  to  say  that  I  can  not 
consent  to  your  being  received  in  my  house.  You're 
a  charlatan  and  a  fakir,  sir,  and  I  do  not  consider  you 
either  my  daughter's  social  equal  nor  one  with  a  char- 
acter respectable  enough  to  associate  with  her.  I 
must  ask  you  to  leave  this  house,  sir,  and  not  to  come 
again." 

Granthope's  eyes  glowed,  and  his  jaws  came  to- 
gether with  determination.  But  he  said  only: 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Payson,  I'm  sure  that  I  do  not 
care  to  call  if  I'm  not  welcome.  This  is,  of  course, 
no  place  to  discuss  the  subject,  but  I  shall  not  come 
here  again  without  your  consent.  As  to  my  meeting 
her  again,  thatJies  wholly  with  her.  You  may  be  sure 
that  I  shall  not  annoy  her  with  my  attentions  if  she 
doesn't  care  to  see  me.  But  I  ask  you,  as  a  matter  of 
courtesy,  to  let  Miss  Payson  know  that  I  have  called." 

"See  that  you  keep  your  word,  sir — that's  all  I  have 
to  say,"  was  Mr.  Payson's  reply,  and  he  stood  in  the 
doorway  to  watch  his  visitor  down  the  garden  walk. 
He  remained  there  until  Granthope  had  descended 
the  steps,  then  walked  down  after  him  and  watched 
him  to  the  corner. 

Mr.  Payson  returned  to  the  library  sullenly. 

"That  palmist  of  yours  had  the  impertinence  to 
come  here  and  ask  for  you,"  he  informed  Clytie,  "but 
I  sent  him  about  his  business,  and  I  expect  he  won't 
be  back  in  a  hurry." 

Clytie  looked  up  with  a  white  face.  "Mr.  Grant- 
hope,  father?"  She  rose  proudly  and  faced  him.  "Do 


292  THE    HEART    LINE 

you  mean  to  say  that  you  were  rude  enough  to  turn 
him  away?  It's  impossible!" 

Mr.  Pay  son  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  a 
dudgeon. 

"I  certainly  did  send  him  away,  and  what's  more,  I 
told  him  not  to  come  back." 

Clytie,  without  another  word,  ran  out  into  the  hall. 
The  front  door  was  flung  open  and  her  footsteps  could 
be  heard  on  the  gravel  walk.  Mr.  Pay  son  seated  him- 
self sulkily. 

In  five  minutes  more  she  had  returned,  slowly,  her 
hair  blown  into  a  fine  disorder,  the  color  flaming  in 
her  cheeks,  her  eyes  quickened. 

"What  in  the  world  have  you  been  doing?"  her 
father  demanded. 

"I  wanted  to  apologize  for  your  rudeness,"  she  an- 
swered, "but  I  was  too  late." 


CHAPTER   X 

A   LOOK    INTO   THE    MIRROR 

"He  gives  exact  and  truthful  revelations  of  all 
love  affairs,  settles  lovers'  quarrels,  enables  you  to 
win  the  affection  and  esteem  of  any  one  you  desire, 
causes  speedy  and  happy  marriages — " 

Granthope  put  down  the  paper  with  a  look  of  dis- 
gust. It  was  his  own  advertisement,  and  it  had 
appeared  daily  for  months.  He  took  up  his  desk  tele- 
phone with  a  jerk,  and  called  up  the  Chronicle  busi- 
ness office. 

"This  is  Granthope,  the  palmist.  Please  take  out 
my  displayed  ad.,  and  insert  only  this:  'Francis  Grant- 
hope,  Palmist.  141  Geary  St.,  Readings,  Ten  Dollars. 
Only  by  Appointment.  Ten  till  Four/  " 

There  was  now  a  red-headed  office  boy  in  the  cor- 
ner where  Fancy  Gray  used  to  sit.  Granthope  missed 
her  jaunty  spirit  and  unfailing  comradeship.  Not 
even  his  endeavor  to  give  his  profession  a  scientific 
aspect  amused  him  any  longer.  He  had  lost  interest 
in  his  work.  He  was  uneasy,  dissatisfied,  blue.  He 
went  into  his  studio  listlessly,  with  a  frown  printed 
on  his  brow.  Until  his  first  client  appeared  he  lay 
upon  the  big  couch,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  light. 

He  had  been  there  a  few  moments  when  his  office 
boy  knocked,  and  opening  the  door,  injected  his  red 
head. 

"Say,  dere's  a  lady  in  here  to  see  you,  Mr.  Grant- 
hope!" 

293 


294  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Who  is  she?" 

The  boy  grinned.  "By  de  name  of  Lucie.  Says 
you  know  her." 

"Tell  her  I  can't  see  her." 

Granthope  turned  away,  and  the  boy  left. 

The  room  was  as  quiet  as  a  padded  cell,  full  of  a 
soft,  velvety  blackness,  except  where  the  single  drop- 
lamp  lighted  up  the  couch.  Ordinarily  the  place  was, 
in  its  strange  dark  emptiness,  a  restful,  comforting 
retreat.  Now  it  imprisoned  him.  Above  his  head 
the  great  ring  of  embroidered  zodiacal  signs  shone 
with  a  golden  luster.  They  were  the  symbols  of  the 
mysterious  dignity  of  the  past,  of  the  dark  ages  of 
thought,  of  priestcraft  and  secret  wisdom  of  the  blind 
centuries  that  had  gone.  But,  a  modern,  incongru- 
ously set  about  with  such  medieval  relics,  he  felt  for 
the  first  time,  undignified.  In  their  time  these  em- 
blems had  represented  all  that  existed  of  knowledge. 
Now,  to  him  they  stood  for  all  that  was  left  of  ignor- 
ance and  superstition;  and  it  was  upon  such  instru- 
ments he  played. 

He  read  palms  perfunctorily  that  Saturday.  He 
seemed  to  hear  his  own  voice  all  the  while,  and  some 
dissociated  function  of  his  mind  scoffed  continually  at 
his  chicanery.  It  was  the  same  old  formula :  "You  are 
not  understood  by  those  about  you.  You  crave  sym- 
pathy, and  it  is  refused.  You  are  extraordinarily 
sensitive,  but  when  you  are  most  hurt  you  often  say 
nothing.  You  have  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  people. 
You  have  a  wonderful  power  of  appreciation  and 
criticism.  People  confide  in  you.  You  are  impulsive, 
but  your  instinct  is  usually  sure" — the  same  profes- 
sional, easy  rigamarole,  colored  with  what  hints  his 


A   LOOK    INTO    THE   MIRROR        295 

quick  eyes  gave  him  or  his  flagging  imagination  sug- 
gested. 

Women  listened  avidly,  drinking  in  every  word. 
How  could  he  help  telling  them  what  they  loved  so  to 
hear  ?  They  asked  questions  so  suggestive  that  a  child 
might  have  answered.  They  prolonged  the  discussion 
of  themselves,  obviously  enjoying  his  apparent  interest. 
He  caught  himself  again  and  again  playing  with  their 
credulity,  their  susceptibility,  and  hated  himself  for  it. 
They  lingered,  smiling  self-consciously,  and  he  delayed 
them  with  a  look.  In  very  perversity,  he  began  delib- 
erately to  flatter  their  vanity  in  order  to  see  to  what 
inordinate  pitch  of  conceit  their  minds  would  rise. 
He  affected  indifference,  and  even  scorn — they  fol- 
lowed after  him  still  more  eagerly.  He  grew,  at  last, 
almost  savagely  critical,  an  instinct  of  cruelty  aroused 
by  such  complacent,  egregious  egoism.  They  fawned 
on  him,  like  spaniels  under  the  lash. 

After  a  solitary  dinner  he  returned  to  his  rooms. 
For  an  hour  or  two  he  tried  to  lose  himself  in  the 
study  of  a  medical  book.  Medicine  had  long  been  his 
passion  and  his  library  was  well  equipped.  Had  he 
been  reading  to  prepare  himself  for  practice  he  could 
not  have  been  more  thorough.  To-night,  however, 
he  found  it  hard  to  fix  his  attention,  and  in  despair  he 
took  up  a  volume  of  Casanova's  Memoirs.  There  was 
an  indefatigable  charlatan!  The  fascinating  Cheva- 
lier had  never  wearied  in  ill-doing;  he  kept  his  zest 
to  the  last.  He  skipped  to  another  volume  to  follow 
the  pursuit  of  Henriette,  of  "C.  V.,"  of  Therese. 
The  perusal  amused  him,  and  he  got  back  something 
of  his  cynical  indifference. 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  when  he  laid  down  the 


296  THE   HEART   LINE 

book  and  rose  to  look,  abstractedly,  out  of  the  office 
window.  He  longed  for  an  adventure  that  should 
reinstate  him  as  his  old  careless  self. 

He  left  his  rooms,  went  up  to  Powell  Street  and 
finally  wandered  into  the  noisy  gaiety  of  the  Techau 
Tavern.  The  place  was  running  full  with  after-theater 
gatherings,  and  he  had  hard  work  to  find  a  table.  All 
about  him  was  a  confusion  of  excited  talk,  the  clatter 
of  dishes,  the  riotous  music  of  an  insistent  orchestra. 
Parties  were  entering  all  the  while,  beckoned  to  places 
by  the  head  waiter.  The  place  was  garish  with  lights 
and  mirrors. 

Granthope  had  sat  there  ten  minutes  or  so,  sipping 
his  glass,  noticing,  here  and  there,  clients  whom  he 
had  served,  when,  between  the  heads  of  two  women, 
far  across  the  room,  he  recognized  Mrs.  Page.  It  was 
not  long  before  she  saw  him,  caught  his  eye,  and 
signaled  with  vivacity.  The  diversion  was  agreeable ; 
he  rose  and  went  over.  A  glance  at  her  table  showed 
him  a  company  most  of  whose  members  he  had  met 
before,  but  with  whom,  only  a  few  months  since,  he 
would  have  counted  it  a  social  success  to  be  considered 
intimate.  While  not  being  quite  of  the  elect,  they  held 
the  key  of  admission  to  many  high  places  in  virtue  of 
their  wit  and  ingenious  powers  to  please.  They  were 
such  as  insured  amusement.  Granthope  himself  was 
this  evening  desirous  of  being  amused. 

With  Mrs.  Page  was  Frankie  Dean,  the  irrepressible, 
voluble,  sarcastic,  a  devil  in  her  black,  snapping  eyes, 
as  cold-blooded  as  a  snake.  It  was  she  who  had  so 
nearly  embarrassed  him  at  the  Chinese  supper  at  the 
Maxwells'.  She  eyed  him  now,  dark,  feline,  whim- 
sically watching  her  chance  to  make  sport  of  him. 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        297 

With  them  was  a  young  girl  from  Santa  Rosa,  newly 
come  to  San  Francisco,  an  alien  in  such  a  company. 
She  was  slight  and  dewy,  vivid  with  sudden  color, 
with  soft,  fervent  eyes  that  had  not  yet  learned  to 
face  such  audacity  as  her  companions  practised.  Keith 
and  Fernigan  were  there,  also,  like  a  vaudeville  team, 
rollicking  with  fun,  playing  into  each  other's  hands, 
charging  the  company  with  abandon.  Lastly,  "Sully" 
Maxwell  sat,  silent,  happy,  indulgent,  with  his  pockets 
filled  with  twenty  dollar  gold-pieces,  which  he  got  rid 
of  at  every  opportunity.  He  spoke  about  once  every 
fifteen  minutes,  and  then  usually  to  the  waiter.  "A 
good  spender"  was  Sully — that  quality  and  his  un- 
failing good-nature  carried  him  into  the  gayest  circles 
and  kept  him  there  unnoticed,  until  the  bills  were  to 
be  paid. 

To  Granthope,  tired  with  his  day's  work,  in  conflict 
with  himself,  morbidly  self-conscious,  the  scene  was 
stimulating.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  inconse- 
quent mirth  in  the  group,  which  dissolved  his  mood 
immediately.  The  women,  smartly  dressed,  bubbling 
with  spirit,  quick  with  repartee — Keith  and  Fernigan, 
their  sparkling  dialogue  interrupted,  waiting  for  an- 
other auditor — even  Sully,  prosperous,  good-natured, 
hospitably  making  him  welcome — the  group  attracted 
him,  rejuvenated  him,  enveloped  him  with  their  friv- 
olity. The  party  was  in  the  first  effervescence  of  its 
enthusiasm.  Mrs.  Page  was  at  her  sprightly  best, 
impellent,  a  gorgeous  animal.  Even  Frankie  Dean, 
whom  he  did  not  like,  was  temptingly  piquant  and 
brisk.  The  little  girl  had  a  novelty  and  virginal  charm. 
He  had  been  out  of  his  element  all  day.  Here,  he 
could  be  himself.  He  could  take  things  easily  and 


298  THE   HEART   LINE 

jocosely,  and  have  no  thought  of  consequences.  His 
mood  disappeared  like  a  shattered  soap-bubble,  and  he 
was  caught  into  their  jubilant  atmosphere. 

He  was  introduced  to  the  girl  from  Santa  Rosa, 
who  looked  up  at  him  timidly  but  with  evident  curi- 
osity, as  at  a  celebrity,  and  sat  down  between  her  and 
Mrs.  Page.  Sully  Maxwell  took  advantage  of  the 
new  arrival  to  order  another  round  of  drinks — club 
sandwiches,  golden  bucks — till  he  was  stopped  by 
Frankie  Dean.  Keith  and  Fernigan  recommenced 
their  wit.  Mrs.  Page  looked  at  him  with  all  kinds  of 
messages  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  quite  sure  that 
he  could  interpret  them.  The  girl  from  Santa  Rosa 
said  nothing,  but,  from  time  to  time,  gave  him  a  shy, 
curious  glance  from  her  big  brown  eyes.  Granthope's 
spirits  rose  steadily,  but  his  excitement  had  in  it 
something  hectic.  In  a  sudden  pause  he  seemed  to 
remember  that  he  had  been  speaking  rather  too  loudly. 

After  the  party  had  refused,  unanimously,  further 
refreshment,  Sully  proposed  that  they  should  all  drive 
out  to  the  Cliff  House,  and  they  left  the  restaurant 
forthwith  to  set  out  on  this  absurd  expedition.  It  was 
already  long  past  midnight ;  the  adventure  was  a  char- 
acteristic San  Francisco  pastime  for  the  giddier  spirits 
of  the  town. 

Sully  was  for  hiring  two  hacks;  Mrs.  Page,  gig- 
gling, vetoed  the  proposition,  and  Frankie  Dean  sup- 
ported her.  Decidedly  that  would  be  commonplace; 
why  break  up  the  party?  The  girl  from  Santa  Rosa 
looked  alarmed  at  the  prospect.  Granthope  smiled 
at  her  ingenuousness,  and  liked  her  for  it.  The  result 
of  the  sidewalk  discussion  was  that  Sully  obligingly 
mounted  beside  the  driver,  and  the  six  others  squeezed 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        299 

into  the  carriage,  the  door  banged,  and  they  proceeded 
on  their  hilarious  way  toward  the  "Panhandle"  of  the 
Park.  On  the  rear  seat  Granthope  sat  with  Mrs. 
Page  and  Frankie  Dean  on  either  hand,  protesting 
that  they  were  perfectly  comfortable.  Opposite  him 
the  girl  from  Santa  Rosa  leaned  forward  on  the  edge 
of  the  cushion,  shrinking  away  from  the  two  men 
beside  her. 

Mrs.  Page  made  an  ineffectual  search  in  the  dark 
for  Granthope's  hand.  Not  finding  it,  she  began  to 
sing,  under  her  breath : 

"It  was  not  like  this  in  the  olden  time, 
It  was  not  like  this,  at  all !" 

and  Frankie  Dean,  quick-witted  enough  to  understand 
the  situation,  remarked,  "Oh,  Mr.  Granthope  doesn't 
read  palms  free,  Violet;  you  ought  to  know  that!" 
She  darted  a  look  at  him. 

So  it  went  on  frothily,  with  chattering,  laughter, 
snatches  of  song,  jests  and  stories,  punctuated  occa- 
sionally by  the  rapping  of  Sully's  cane  on  the  window 
of  the  carriage,  as  he  leaned  over  in  a  jovial  attempt 
to  participate  in  the  fun.  Granthope,  for  a  while, 
led  the  spirit  of  gaiety  that  prevailed,  told  a  story 
or  two,  "jollied"  Mrs.  Page,  laughed  at  Keith's  in- 
consequence, accepted  Frankie  Dean's  challenges. 
But  the  frank,  bewildered  eyes  of  the  little  girl  from 
Santa  Rosa,  fixed  upon  him,  disconcerted  him  more 
than  once. 

The  carriage  soon  entered  Golden  Gate  Park.  The 
night  was  warm  and  still,  the  dusk  pervaded  with 
perfumes.  Under  the  slope  of  Strawberry  Hill  Max- 


300  THE    HEART    LINE 

wjell  stopped  the  carriage  and  ordered  them  all  out  to 
invade  the  shadowy  stillness  with  revelry.  The  night 
air  was  that  of  belated  summer,  full  of  a  languor  that 
comes  seldom  to  San  Francisco  which  has  neither  real 
summer  nor  real  winter,  and  the  wildness  of  the  place, 
remote,  unvisited,  was  exhilarating.  A  mock  minuet 
was  started,  races  run,  even  trees  climbed  by  Frankie 
Dean  the  audacious,  with  shrieks  and  laughter,  all 
childishly  with  the  sheer  joy  of  living.  Granthope  and 
the  girl  from  Santa  Rosa,  after  watching  the  sport 
with  amusement  for  a  while,  left  the  rest  and  walked  on 
past  a  turn  of  the  road,  to  stand  there,  discussing  the 
stars,  while  the  cries  of  the  two  women  came  softened 
along  the  sluggish  breeze.  The  girl  took  off  her  hat 
and  breathed  deeply  of  the  night  air.  They  walked  on 
farther  through  the  gloom,  till  only  an  occasional 
faint  shout  reached  them  from  the  party.  Granthope 
put  the  girl  at  her  ease,  pointed  out  the  planets  and  the 
constellations  and  explained  the  principles  of  ancient 
astrology.  They  had  begun  to  forget  the  rest  when 
they  were  overtaken  and  captured  again  and  the 
Crowded  carriage  took  its  way  towards  the  sea. 

Upon  a  high  ledge  of  rock  jutting  out  into  the 
Pacific,  at  the  very  entrance  to  the  Bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, stands  the  Cliff  House,  a  white,  wooden, 
many-windowed  monstrosity  with  glazed  verandas, 
cupolas,  frivolous  dormers,  cheap,  garish,  bulky,  gay, 
seemingly  almost  toppling  into  the  water.  Here  come 
not  only  such  innocently  holidaying  folk  as  Fancy 
Gray  and  Gay  P.  Summer,  not  only  jaded  tourists  and 
the  Sunday-outing  citizens  who  lie  upon  the  warm 
beach  below  and  doze  away  a  morning  in  the  sun  and 
wind.  It  was  patronized  of  old  by  the  buggy-riding 


A    LOOK    INTO    THE    MIRROR         301 

fraternity,  the  smokers,  the  spenders,  with  their  lights- 
o'-love,  as  the  most  popular  of  road-houses.  The  cable- 
cars  and  the  two  "dummy"  railroad  lines  have  changed 
its  character  somewhat,  but  it  is  still  a  show-place  of 
the  town.  There  is  good  eating,  a  gorgeous  view  of 
the  Pacific,  and  the  sea-lions  on  the  rocks  below. 

Here  Mrs.  Page's  party  alighted,  near  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  The  bar  only  was  open,  its  white- 
frocked  attendant  sleeping  behind  the  counter.  This 
they  entered,  yawning  from  their  ride.  The  barkeeper 
was  awakened,  peremptorily,  and  was  ordered  to  pre- 
pare what  he  had  for  refreshment.  With  hot  beans 
from  the  heater,  tamales,  potato  salad,  cold  cuts, 
crackers  and  cheese,  he  laid  a  table  in  a  small  dining- 
room.  Sully  Maxwell  undertook  all  the  arrangements, 
fraternized  with  the  barkeeper,  selected  beverages, 
not  forgetting  ginger  ale  for  the  girl  from  Santa  Rosa. 
Mrs.  Page  and  Frankie  Dean,  somewhat  disheveled, 
retired,  to  appear  trig  and  trim  and  glossy  in  the  gas- 
light, ready  for  more  gaiety.  Granthope,  meanwhile, 
had  wandered  out  upon  the  veranda  to  watch  the  surf 
dashing  on  the  rocks,  to  note  the  yellow  gleam  from 
the  Point  Bonita  light,  and  smell  the  salt  air;  to  get 
his  courage  up,  in  short,  for  another  round  of  anima- 
tion. The  instant  he  returned  Mrs.  Page  went  at 
him. 

"Now,  Frank,"  she  said,  "it  won't  do  to  sulk  or  to 
flirt  with  Santa  Rosa.  What's  got  into  you,  anyway? 
You  must  positively  do  something  to  amuse  us." 

"Office  hours  from  ten  till  four,"  Keith  murmured 
audibly. 

Frankie  Dean  turned  on  him:  "They  never  let  you 
out  of  your  cage  at  all !" 


302  THE   HEART   LINE 

Fernigan,  thereat,  began  an  absurd  pantomime  that 
half  terrified  the  girl  from  Santa  Rosa.  He  pretended 
to  be  a  monkey  behind  the  bars  of  a  cage,  eating  pea- 
nuts— and  worse.  It  was  shockingly  funny.  The 
company  roared,  all  but  Granthope.  He  was  at  the 
point  of  impatience,  but  replied  with  what  sounded 
like  ennui: 

"I'm  a  bit  stale,  Violet ;  you'll  have  to  excuse  me  if 
I'm  stupid  to-night.  I  came  to  be  entertained." 

Frankie  Dean  looked  at  him  mischievously.  "Never 
mind,  Mr.  Granthope,  she'll  come  back." 

It  was  obviously  no  more  than  a  cant  phrase,  in- 
tended for  a  witticism.  Mrs.  Page,  however,  took  it 
up  with  mock  seriousness. 

"Who's  'she',  now  ?  I'm  back  in  the  chorus  again ! 
There  was  a  time,  Frank—"  Her  voice  was  sentimen- 
tal ;  she  tilted  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  under  half- 
closed  eyelids,  across  the  table. 

"I  say,  Granthope,  you  ought  to  publish  an  illus- 
trated catalogue  of  'em.  There's  nothing  doing  for 
amateurs,  nowadays.  When  women  pay  five  dollars  to 
have  their  hands  held  what  chance  is  there  for  us?" 
This  from  Keith,  with  burlesque  emphasis. 

Mrs.  Page  would  not  be  diverted.  "No,  but  really, 
Frank ;  who  is  she  ?  I've  quite  lost  track  of  your  con- 
quests." 

"Oh,  you  know  I'm  wedded  to  my  art,"  he  said 
lightly. 

"Yes,  and  it's  the  art  of  making  love,  isn't  it?" 
*  'No   further   seek   his   merits   to   disclose,' "   said 
Keith,  and  Fernigan  added,  "  'Nor  draw  his  frailties 
from  their  dread  abode.'  " 

The  girl  from  Santa  Rosa  looked  suddenly  bursting 


A  LOOK  INTO  THE  MIRROR      303 

with  intelligence,  recognizing  the  quotation.  She 
started  to  finish  it,  then  stopped;  her  lips  moved  si- 
lently. Granthope  smiled. 

Frankie  Dean  had  been  watching  her  chance  for 
another  at  his  expense.  Now  she  asked,  with  apparent 
frankness:  "Mr.  Granthope,  can  you  tell  character  by 
the  lines  on  the  soles  of  the  feet?" 

"Science  of  Solistry,"  murmured  Keith  to  the  Santa 
Rosa  girl. 

"Let's  try  it!"  Mrs.  Page  exclaimed.  "I  will,  for 
one !  Do  you  know  my  second  toe's  longer  than  my 
great  toe?  I'm  awfully  proud  of  it.  I  can  prove  it, 
too !" 

"Go  on !"    Frankie  Dean  dared  her. 

The  girl  from  Santa  Rosa  stared,  her  lips  apart. 
"Why,  every  one's  is,  aren't  they?" 

"No  such  thing!"  Mrs.  Page  stopped  and  almost 
blushed.  A  chorus  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  there  are  a  good  many  better  ways  of  telling 
character  than  that,"  said  Granthope. 

"Yes,"  Keith  put  in.  "Indiscreet  remarks,  for  in- 
stance." 

Mrs.  Page  bit  her  lip  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"Oh,  if  I  were  going  in  for  indiscreet  remarks  I  might 
make  a  few  about  you !" 

Here  Sully  interposed.  "Isn't  this  conversation 
getting  rather  personal?  I  move  we  discard  all  these 
low  cards.  This  is  no  woman's  club.  The  quiet  life 
for  mine." 

The  hint  was  taken  by  Keith,  who  began  an  English 
music-hall  song,  to  the  effect  that  "John  was  a  nice 
good  'usband,  'e  never  cared  to  roam,  'e  only  wanted 
a  quiet  life,  'e  only  wanted  a  quiet  wife ;  there  'e  would 


304  THE    HEART   LINE 

sit  by  the  fireside,   such  a  chilly  man  was  John — 
where  he  was  joined  in  the  chorus  by  Fernigan — "Oh, 
I  'opes  and  trusts  there's  a  nice  'ot  fire,  where  my  old 
man's  gone !"     Maxwell  pounded  in  time  upon  the 
table.    The  girl  from  Santa  Rosa  hazarded  a  laugh. 

Granthope  looked  on  listlessly,  ever  more  detached 
and  introspective.  This  was  what  he  had  been  used  to, 
since  he  could  remember,  but  now,  in  the  stuffy  little 
room,  with  its  ghastly  yellow  gas-light,  the  smell  of 
eatables  and  wine,  the  pallor  of  the  women's  faces,  the 
flush  of  Maxwell's,  the  desperate  frivolity,  the  artifi- 
ciality of  it  all  bored  him.  He  wondered,  whimsically, 
why  he  had  ever  looked  forward  to  being  the  com- 
panion of  such  a  society  as  this.  It  was  all  harmless 
enough,  unconventional  as  it  was,  but  he  tasted  the 
ashes  in  his  mouth.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  was  only 
not  in  the  mood  for  it.  He  tried  to  smile  again. 

Fernigan  seized  a  small  Turkish  rug  from  the  floor 
and  hung  it  in  front  of  him,  like  a  chasuble.  Standing 
before  the  company  he  intoned  a  sacrilegious  parody, 
like  everything  he  did,  funny,  like  everything  he  did, 
atrocious : 

"0,  sanctissimus  nabisco  in  Colorado  maduro  domino 
te  deum,  e  pluribus  unum  vice  versa  et  circus  hippo- 
criticam,  mephisto  apollinaris  nux  vomica  dolores 
intimidad  mores;  0  rara  avis  per  diem  cum  magnum 
vino  et  sappho  modus  vivendi  felicitas"  to  the  droned 
"A— men." 

Keith  then  enlivened  the  company  with  what  quaint 
parlor  tricks  he  knew,  or  dared,  from  making  of  a 
napkin  a  ballet  dancer  pirouetting  upon  one  toe,  to 
limericks  that  were  suppressed  by  Sully  Maxwell. 
Mrs.  Pag*e  laughed  prodigiously,  showing  all  her 


A   LOOK    INTO    THE   MIRROR        305 

teeth,  staring  with  her  great  eyes,  vivid  in  her  every 
expression,  flamboyant,  sleek  and  glossy,  abounding 
in  temperament.  Frankie  Dean  smiled  maliciously 
and  plied  the  performers  with  her  acrid  wit.  The 
girl  from  Santa  Rosa  listened,  her  cheeks  burning. 

At  six  they  went  outside  for  fresh  air  and  prome- 
naded the  glazed  veranda  until  the  sun  rose.  In  front 
of  them  was  the  broad  Pacific,  stretching  out  to  the 
Farralones,  even  to  Japan.  To  the  north,  across  the 
bar,  yellowed  with  alluvium  from  the  San  Joaquin  and 
Sacramento  Rivers,  a  mountainous  coast  stretched  to 
far,  misty  Bolinas.  Southward  ran  the  broad,  wide 
beach  exposed  by  the  ebb  tide.  It  was  damp  and  cool ; 
the  last  spasm  of  summer  had  given  way  to  the  brisk, 
stimulating  weather  that  was  San  Francisco's  usual 
habit.  Granthope  buttoned  his.  light  overcoat  tightly 
over  his  rumpled  evening  dress  and  walked  with  the 
girl  from  Santa  Rosa,  enjoying  the  scene  quietly, 
speaking  in  monosyllables.  The  others  had  a  new 
burst  of  effervescence,  still  more  desperate  than  ever; 
their  hilarity  was  indefatigable.  Keith  walked  along 
the  tops  of  the  tables,  leading  Mrs.  Page.  Frankie 
Dean  and  Fernigan  two-stepped  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  wide  platform,  joking  incessantly. 

A  walk  up  the  beach  was  then  suggested,  and,  after 
a  preliminary  furbishing  of  faces  and  hair,  they  went 
down  the  steep  rocky  road  to  the  wide  strand,  and 
proceeded  along  the  shore. 

Granthope,  falling  behind,  saw  that  the  girl  from 
Santa  Rosa  alone  had  waited  for  him.  She  gazed  at 
him  steadily  with  grave  eyes. 

"Well,"  he  said  kindly,  "what  d'you  think  of  San 
Francisco?" 


306  THE    HEART    LINE 

She  looked  down  at  the  sand  and  drew  a  circle 
with  her  toe  before  she  answered. 

"It's  pretty  gay  here,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  call  this  sort  of  thing  gay !" 

The  girl  looked  immensely  relieved,  gave  him  a 
quick,  searching  glance,  and  said  shyly :  "Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Granthope,  I  have  an  idea  that  you  didn't  enjoy 
it  any  more  than  I  did!" 

He  smiled  at  her,  then  silently  grasped  her  hand. 
She  blushed  and  turned  away. 

"I  thought  it  was  going  to  be  great  fun,"  she  said, 
as  they  walked  on.  "I  never  was  up  all  night  before. 
It's  awfully  exciting.  But  people  do  look  awful  in  the 
morning,  don't  they?" 

She  herself  was  like  a  blossom  wet  with  dew,  but 
Granthope  knew  what  she  meant,  well  enough.  He 
had  watched  the  lines  come  into  Mrs.  Page's  face  and 
her  mouth  droop  at  the  corners;  he  had  noticed  the 
glitter  fade  from  Frankie  Dean's  black  eyes,  and  her 
lids  grow  heavy. 

"You  ought  never  to  have  come,"  he  said.  "I  think 
you'd  better  go  home  and  get  to  bed.  Suppose  we 
leave  them  and  walk  across  to  the  almshouse  and  take 
the  Haight  Street  cars?" 

"Oh,  d'you  think  they'd  mind,  if  we  did?" 

"They'd  never  notice  that  we  were  gone,  I'm  sure." 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  find  me  awfully  stupid.  Miss 
Dean  is  very  witty,  isn't  she?" 

"I'd  rather  be  stupid." 

"You're  sure  I  won't  bore  you?" 

"I  don't  feel  much  like  talking,  myself.  I  have 
plenty  to  think  about.  Suppose  we  don't  say  anything, 
unless  we  have  something  to  say." 


A   LOOK   INTO   THE   MIRROR        307 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  could  do  that — in  San 
Francisco !" 

He  laughed  sincerely  for  the  first  time  that  night. 

As  they  came  to  the  place  where  the  beach  road 
turned  off  for  Ingleside,  the  rest  of  the  party  was  some 
distance  ahead.  They  were  sitting  upon  some  rocks, 
and,  as  Granthope  looked,  he  saw  Mrs.  Page  rise,  lift 
her  skirts  and  walk  barefooted  across  the  sands,  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  She  turned  and  waved  her  hand 
to  him.  He  took  off  his  hat  to  her  and  pointed  inland 
in  reply.  Then  he  climbed  the  low  sand-hills  with  his 
companion  and  struck  off  southward,  along  the  road. 
The  girl  had  colored  again. 

Her  confidence  in  him  was  soothing.  She  was  so 
serious  and  innocent,  so  quick  with  a  country  girl's 
delicate  observation  of  nature,  that  he  fell  into  a  more 
placid  state  of  mind.  She  became  more  friendly  all 
the  while,  till,  despite  her  confession  of  shyness,  she 
fairly  prattled.  He  let  her  run  on,  scarcely  listening, 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  And  so,  up  the  long 
road  to  the  almshouse,  resting  in  the  pale  sunshine 
occasionally,  through  the  Park  to  the  end  of  the  Haight 
Street  cable-line  they  walked,  and  talked  ingenuously. 

She  lived  in  "The  Mission,"  and  there,  having 
nothing  better  to  do,  he  escorted  her,  and  at  last,  in 
that  jumble  of  wooden  buildings  so  multitudinously 
prosaic,  between  the  Twin  Peaks  and  the  Old  Mission, 
he  left  her.-  She  bade  him  good-by  apparently  with 
regret.  Widely  different  as  they  were  in  mind  and 
temperament,  they  had,  for  their  hour,  come  closely  to- 
gether. Now  they  were  to  recede,  never  again,  per- 
haps, to  meet. 

He  walked  in  town  along  Valencia  Street,  through 


308  THE    HEART   LINE 

that  curious  "hot  belt"  which  defies  the  town's  normal 
state  of  weather,  turned  up  Van  Ness  Avenue,  still 
too  busy  with  his  reflections  to  shut  himself  up  in  his 
studio.  It  was  Sunday  morning — he  had  almost  for- 
gotten the  day — and  he  turned  up  his  collar,  to  con- 
ceal what  he  could  of  his  evening  attire  and  its  wilted, 
rumpled  linen,  somewhat  uncomfortable  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  church-going  throngs  which  pervaded  the 
avenue. 

He  had  reached  the  top  of  the  long  slope  leading 
to  the  Black  Point  military  reservation,  and  was  paus- 
ing upon  the  corner  of  Lombard  Street,  when,  looking 
up  the  hill,  he  saw  Clytie  Payson  coming  down  the 
steep,  irregular  pathway  that  did  service  for  a  side- 
walk. He  stepped  behind  a  lamp-post  and  watched 
her,  uncertain  whether  or  not  to  let  her  see  him. 

She  came  tripping  down,  picking  her  way  along 
the  cleated  double  plank,  too  intent  upon  her  footsteps 
to  look  far  ahead.  The  sight  of  her  made  him  a  little 
trepid  with  excitement;  it  focused  his  dissatisfaction 
with  himself.  He  knew,  now,  what  had  disturbed  him. 
It  was  the  thought  of  her.  She  had  forced  him  to 
look  at  himself  from  a  new  point  of  view,  with  a 
new,  critical  vision.  He  longed  for  her  approval.  Her 
gentle  coercion  was  drawing  him  into  new  channels 
of  life,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  need  for  her  help.  He 
was  losing  his  whilom  comrades,  his  old  familiar  asso- 
ciations repelled  him.  He  had  nothing  to  sustain  him 
now,  but  the  thought  of  her  -friendship. 

But,  in  his  present  state,  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
address  her.  As  a  child  plays  with  circumstances  and 
makes  his  own  omens,  he  left  the  decision  to  chance. 
If  she  turned  and  saw  him,  he  would  greet  her  and 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR         309 

throw  himself  on  her  grace.  If  not,  he  would  pass  on 
without  speaking,  much  as  he  longed  to  speak. 

She  came  down  to  the  corner  diagonally  opposite 
and  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  off  at  the  mountains 
and  the  waters  of  the  Golden  Gate.  He  saw  her  make 
a  sudden  movement,  as  if  waking  from  her  abstraction, 
then  she  walked  over  in  his  direction.  He  came  out 
from  his  cover  and  went  to  meet  her. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Granthope  !"  She  was  smiling, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "I  thought  I  recognized  you! 
Something  told  me  to  stop  a  moment,  and  wait.  Then 
suddenly  I  saw  you.  You  see,  you  can't  escape  me !" 

He  was  visibly  embarrassed,  conscious  of  his  signifi- 
cantly unkempt  appearance.  She,  however,  did  not 
show  that  she  noticed  it. 

"How  is  your  ankle?"  was  her  first  inquiry.  He 
assured  her  that  it  had  given  him  no  trouble  for  a 
week,  and  he  expressed  his  thanks  to  her  for  her  help. 

"I've  been  hoping  I  might  see  you,"  she  said,  "to 
apologize  for  the  reception  you  received  the  last  time 
you  called. .  I  can't  tell  you  how  unhappy  it  made  me, 
nor  how  I  regret  it." 

"Mayn't  I  see  you  a  while  now?"  He  felt  at 
such  a  disadvantage  in  his  present  condition  that 
it  was  embarrassing  to  be  with  her,  and  yet  he  longed 
for  another  hour  of  companionship. 

"Let's  walk  down  to  the  Point,"  she  said.  "I  can 
get  in  the  reservation,  and  it  will  be  beautiful." 

As  they  walked  down  across  the  empty  space  at 
the  foot  of  the  avenue  and  along  the  board-walk  over 
the  sand,  she  talked  inconsequently  of  the  day  and  the 
scene,  evidently  attempting  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 
The  little  girl  from  Santa  Rosa  had  given  him  a 


3io  THE    HEART   LINE 

passive  comfort.  Clytie's  companionship  was  an  ac- 
tive and  inspiring  joy.  His  depression  ceased ;  a  sane, 
wholesome  content  rilled  him.  He  watched  her  grace- 
ful, leopard-like  swing  and  the  evidences  of  vitality 
that  impelled  her  movements. 

They  passed  the  sentry  who  nodded  to  her  at  the 
gate,  went  past  the  officers'  quarters,  down  a  little 
path  lined  with  piled  cannon-balls,  out  to  a  small 
promontory  that  overlooked  the  harbor.  Here  there 
was  an  old  Spanish  brass  cannon  in  its  wooden  mortar- 
carriage,  and  a  seat  on  the  very  edge  of  the  bluff. 
The  harbor  extended  wide  to  the  southeast.  Inshore 
was  a  covey  of  white-sailed  yachts  in  regatta,  just  tack- 
ing, to  beat  across  to  Lime  Point,  opposite. 

As  they  sat  down,  Clytie  said,  "Now  do  tell  me 
about  Miss  Gray.  How  is  she?" 

"She's  not  with  me  any  more." 

She  lifted  her  brows.     "Where  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know,  quite." 

"You  haven't  seen  her  since  she  left?" 

"No,  not  for  two  weeks." 

Clytie  frowned  and  bit  her  lip,  then  shook  her  head 
silently.  Then  she  remarked,  as  if  to  herself,  "I  like 
her.  I'm  sure  she's  fine." 

"She  likes  you,  too." 

"I  wish  I  might  see  her,"  she  went  on,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  mountains.  "I'd  like  to  do  something 
for  her.  I  might  get  her  a  position  in  my  father's 
office,  I'm  sure,  if  she'd  take  it.  I  have  a  curious 
feeling,  though,  that  it  is  she  who  will  be  more  likely 
to  do  something  for  me." 

"If  she  ever  can,  you  may  be  sure  she  will.  Fancy 
is  true  blue," 


A  LOOK   INTO   THE   MIRROR        311 

"You  didn't — have  any  misunderstanding  with  her, 
did  you?" 

"Oh,  no." 

She  seemed  to  notice  his  reluctance  to  explain,  and 
did  not  pursue  the  subject. 

She  turned  and  her  eyes  fell  upon  his  hand,  which 
lay  carelessly  upon  his  knee.  "Let  me  see  your  palm," 
she  said  impulsively.  "I've  never  looked  at  it  care- 
fully. I  suppose  you've  told  your  own  fortune  often 
enough." 

He  gave  his  left  hand  to  her.  She  barely  touched 
it,  holding  it  lightly,  but  he  felt  the  magnetism  of  the 
contact  almost  as  a  caress.  "You'll  find  my  line  of 
fate  shows  that  I'm  to  change  my  career,"  he  re- 
marked. "It's  broken  at  the  head  line,  you  see,  and 
begins  over  again." 

"Now,  let  me  look  at  your  right  hand." 

She  looked  at  it,  and  her  expression  changed  subtly. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  found  some  secret  satisfaction 
in  his  palm,  some  answer  to  her  desires. 

"What  d'you  see?" 

"The  heart  line." 

In  his  left  hand  it  began  near  the  root  of  the  second 
finger,  at  the  mount  of  Saturn,  not,  as  he  would  have 
preferred,  farther  toward  the  index  finger,  at  the 
mount  of  Jupiter.  He  wondered  if  that  meant  to  her 
what  it  did,  in  his  professional  capacity,  to  him — an 
indication  of  more  sensual  tastes.  Half  its  length 
was  cobwebbed  with  tiny  branches,  and  punctuated 
with  islands ;  then  it  ran,  deep  and  clear  to  the  edge 
of  the  palm,  almost  straight.  In  his  right  palm  the 
line  was  cleaner,  simpler,  undivided. 

She  had  begun  to  color,  faintly ;  she  had  turned  her 


312  THE   HEART   LINE 

eyes  from  him.  Into  her  loveliness  had  come  a  new 
element  of  charm.  There  was  something  special  in  it, 
something  for  him  alone;  it  was  as  if  she  had  been 
signaling  to  him,  and  he  had  not,  till  now,  understood. 
Instantly  every  line  in  her  body  seemed  to  be  imbued 
with  a  new  grace,  a  new  meaning,  translating  her 
spirit.  He  was  too  full  of  the  inspiration  to  speak; 
he  could  only  look  at  her,  irradiated,  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  her  before.  To  his  admiration  for  her 
beauty,  his  respect  for  her  character,  his  interest  in  her 
mind,  there  was  added  something  more ;  the  total  was 
not  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  sum  of  these.  And 
the  wonderful  whole  satisfied  the  divine  fastidiousness 
of  his  nature.  She  was  for  him  the  supreme  choice. 
Her  mind  worked  like  his.  Her  very  size  pleased  him. 
He  seemed  to  know  her  for  the  first  time.  He  had 
desired  her,  before,  for  her  beauty  and  her  intelli- 
gence; he  had  thought  calmly  of  love  and  marriage. 
But  now  he  felt  the  supreme  demand  for  possession, 

because only  because  he  must  have  her — because 

nothing  else  in  his  life  mattered. 

A  secret  ray  of  thought  seemed  to  carry  the  message 
back  to  her,  for,  apparently  embarrassed  by  the  inten- 
sity of  his  silence,  she  rose  and  walked  a  few  paces, 
with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  gazing  off  at  the 
harbor.  It  was  not  thought  that  he  sent,  however, 
for  he  could  not  think;  it  was  a  new  function  of  his 
soul  aroused,  excited,  thrilling  him  with  the  power 
of  its  vibration. 

When  that  wave  broke,  he  was  at  a  loss  for  words. 
How  could  he  say  how  much  he  wanted  her?  How 
could  he  ask  if  she,  too,  felt  that  same  thrill,  while 
he  winced  under  this  new,  mortifying-  sense  of  the 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        313 

cheapness  and  falsity  of  his  life?  He  could  not  yet 
bring  himself  to  confess  the  miserable  truths;  it  was 
not  the  larger,  more  obvious  things  he  was  afraid  of, 
for  she  knew  well  enough  of  these — but  one  or  two 
shameful  details  came  into  his  mind  and  made  him 
shrink  from  himself. 

She  turned  to  him  again,  composed,  though  still  she 
showed  elation. 

"I'm  sorry  Fancy  had  to  go,"  she  said  earnestly. 
Her  eyes  were  steady,  though  her  lips  were  still  quiv- 
ering. 

"It  was  too  bad.     But  it  was  necessary." 

She  gave  him  a  swift,  searching  look. 

"Oh!    Then  you  are— finding  out?" 

"I'm  being  pushed  on,  somehow.  It's  really  queer, 
as  if  the  force  came  from  outside  of  myself — " 

"Oh,  no!     I'm  sure  not!" 

"Something  is  working  out  in  me — " 

Clytie  smiled  rarely,  her  face  illuminated.  "Oh,  fate 
deals  the  cards,  but  we  have  to  play  them  ourselves. 
And — I  think — you've  taken  several  tricks  already." 

"You  mean — about  Fancy  Gray?" 

"No — that  I  can/t  judge — I  never  have  judged. 
Your  advertisement  in  the  papers." 

He  was  immensely  surprised,  pleased.  "You  have 
noticed  that  already?  Why,  this  is  only  the  very  first 
day—" 

"I  have  watched  for  it  every  day." 

There  was  another  pause.  Her  remark  was  reveal- 
ing— yet  he  dared  not  hope  too  far.  He  felt  so  near 
to  her,  so  intimate  in  that  revelation  that  he  feared 
to  deceive  himself.  Oh,  he  was  for  her,  now!  His 
heart  clamored  for  possession,  yet  he  could  not  declare 


314  THE   HEART   LINE 

himself.  They  were  upon  different  spiritual  altitudes. 
Women,  before,  had  come  at  his  whistle.  Now  he 
was  awkward,  timid,  excited  with  expectancy,  his 
heart  going  hard. 

"There  is  a  reason  why  I  was  glad  to  see  that 
change,  Mr.  Granthope,"  she  continued.  He  waited 
for  her  words  eagerly.  She  looked  away,  her  eyes 
following  the  sails  in  mid-channel.  "I'm  thinking  of 
leaving  town." 

The  announcement  fell  upon  him  like  a  blow.  "You 
are  going  away!"  he  exclaimed,  his  voice  betraying 
him. 

"Not  for  a  week  or  two,  perhaps." 

"A  week!"  The  words  stung  him.  "Don't  go- 
yet!"  he  exclaimed  faintly. 

"I  don't  want  to  go — yet.  My  aunt  in  the  East 
has  invited  me  to  visit  her  for  six  months."  She 
spoke  calmly,  but  did  not  look  at  him. 

"I'll  have  to  hurry,  won't  I  ?"  he  said  with  a  desper- 
ate, whimsical  inflection. 

"Yes.     You'll  have  to  hurry." 

For  a  while  he  was  too  agitated  to  speak.  If  there 
had  needed  anything  more  to  convince  him  of  his  state 
of  mind,  this  sufficed.  He  was  aware,  by  the  sense 
of  shock,  how  much  he  cared. 

"Before  I  go,  I'd  like  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  Mr. 
Granthope." 

It  almost  comforted  him.  "What  is  it — of  course, 
I'll  do  anything." 

"Will  you  see  if  you  can  find  out  something  about 
that  little  boy  who  lived  with  Madam  Grant?" 

There  it  was  again!  This  blow  turned  his  mind 
black.  She  was  gazing  at  him  earnestly — he  could 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        315 

hardly  bear  her  look,  so  placid,  so  sincere.  "You 
mean — clairvoyantly  ?"  he  stammered. 

"Yes.     I  think  we  might  do  it,  together." 

He  rose  to  walk  up  and  down. the  top  of  the  bank 
for  a  few  minutes.  Once  he  stopped  and  gazed  at 
her  fiercely,  under  tensely  set  brows.  Finally  he  re- 
turned hopelessly. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

He  hesitated.    "I  know  I  couldn't  get  anything." 

"But  you  did  before?" 

He  longed  desperately  to  confess  everything,  but 
he  could  not  speak.  He  felt  her  recede  from  him; 
their  delightful  intimacy  was  broken.  She  did 
not  insist  further,  and  self-contempt  kept  him  silent, 
till  he  broke  out,  "Oh,  it's  you  who  must  help  me!" 

"I've  done  all  I  can  for  you.  You  must  find  out 
the  rest  for  yourself." 

"I  don't  dare  to  think  how  much  you  have  to  find 
out  about  me." 

"Tell  me!" 

"I  haven't  the  courage." 

She  let  her  hand  fall  lightly  upon  his  for  an  instant. 
"Well,  that  only  proves,  doesn't  it,  that,  so  long  as 
there's  anything  insurmountable  in  the  way  of  direct- 
ness and  simplicity,  you  haven't  gone  all  the  way? 
I'll  wait." 

"I'm  so  afraid  of  losing  your  sympathy  and  your 
respect." 

"But  you  can't  stop  still !" 

"I'm  afraid  of  losing  you!" 

He  saw  the  tears  come  into  her  eyes.  "Ah,  there's 
only  one  way  you  can  lose  me,"  she  said  deliberately. 


316  THE    HEART    LINE 

"How?"    He  was  eager. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  arose  slowly.  "I  think  I 
must  be  going." 

He  followed  her,  thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self at  having  let  his  moment  pass.  He  understood 
her  well  enough.  It  was  only  by  stopping  still,  as  she 
had  said,  that  he  could  lose  her.  She  had  started  a 
change  in  him,  and  it  must  go  on.  Something  which 
tied  his  hands,  his  mind,  must  be  cut;  he  must  be 
free  of  that  before  he  could  speak. 

They  retraced  their  steps,  she  talking,  as  when  they 
had  come,  inconsequently ;  he,  moody,  troubled  in- 
wardly, self-conscious.  She  was  to  give  him  one  more 
hope,  however.  As  she  left  him,  on  the  avenue,  she 
offered  her  hand,  and  smiled. 

"Don't  give  it  up,"  she  said,  and  turned  away,  leav- 
ing him  standing  alone,  stiL  fighting  his  battle  with 
himself. 

He  had  enough  to  think  of,  as  he  strode  home, 
ill-satisfied  with  himself  and  in  a  turmoil  of  thought 
in  regard  to  her.  There  was  no  question  of  mastery, 
now;  she  had  beaten  him  at  his  own  game.  It  was 
only  a  question  of  surrender. 

He  went  up  into  his  office  and  stood,  looking  about. 
The  row  of  plaster  casts  confronted  him.  He  took 
one  from  the  row  and  examined  it.  There,  too,  was 
a  heart  line  split  up  with  divergent  branches,  punctu- 
ated with  little  islands,  beginning  at  the  Mount  of 
Saturn,  herring-boned  to  the  end,  at  the  double  crease 
which  signified  two  marriages.  The  fingers  were  short 
and  fat,  the  thumb  being  far  too  small.  Small  joints, 
broad  lines,  deep  cushions  at  the  Mounts  of  Venus  and 
Mercury,  deep  bracelets  at  the  wrist — Granthope's 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        317 

eyes  read  the  signs  as  if  the  hand  were  a  face,  or  a 
whole  body. 

As  he  turned  the  cast  over  thoughtfully,  to  look 
at  the  back,  it  dropped  from  his  grasp  and  fell  to  the 
floor,  breaking  into  a  dozen  pieces.  Bits  of  wire  pro- 
jected humorously  from  the  stump.  He  smiled. 

"Kismet!"  he  said  to  himself.     "Adieu,  Violet!" 

He  was  stooping  to  clear  away  the  fragments  when 
he  heard  a  knock  upon  the  door.  Going  to  answer  it, 
he  found  Professor  Vixley  waiting. 

"Hello,  Frank/'  said  the  slate-writer.  "Can  I  see 
you  for  a  few  minutes  ?" 

"Come  in."  Granthope  drew  up  a  chair,  but  stood 
himself  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  while  his  visitor 
made  himself  comfortable. 

Vixley's  shrewd  eyes  roved  about  the  room  and 
rested  upon  the  broken  cast.  "Hello,"  he  said,  "cat 
got  into  the  statuary?" 

"Accident,"  said  the  palmist. 

"Plenty  more  where  they  come  from,  I  s'pose.  Say, 
Frank,  let's  see  the  Payson  girl's  hand,  will  you  ?" 

"I  haven't  it." 

"You  mean  a  cast,  of  course,  eh?  I  expect  youVe 
pretty  near  got  the  original,  ain't  you?" 

"Not  yet."    Granthope  frowned. 

"But  soon—" 

Granthope  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  was  about  Payson  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  the 
Professor  went  on.  "Seems  to  me  you  ain't  standin' 
in  like  you  agreed  to.  Gert  claims  you  got  cold  feet 
on  the  proposition.  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  chew 
it  over." 

Granthope  did  not  answer,  and  the'  frown  on  his 


3i8  THE   HEART   LINE 

forehead  persisted.  Vixley  took  out  a  cigar  and  lighted 
it,  threw  his  match  on  to  the  desk,  looked  about  again, 
and  grinned.  "Then  you  have  got  cold  feet,  eh?"  he 
remarked,  crossing  his  legs. 

Granthope  looked  the  Professor  squarely  in  the  eye 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  said  deliberately:  "Vixley, 
what  will  you  take  to  leave  town?" 

Vixley  showed  his  astonishment  in  the  stare  with 
which  he  replied.  His  lip  drew  away  from  his  yellow 
fangs,  and  a  keen  light  came  into  his  black  eyes. 
"Oho!  That's  the  game,  is  it?  Somethin'  doin', 
after  all,  eh?  Well,  well!"  He  mouthed  his  cigar 
meditatively  and  twirled  his  thumbs  in  his  lap. 

"Come,  name  your  price,"  said  Granthope  sharply. 

"I'd  like  a  few  details  first." 

"What's  the  figure?" 

Vixley  was  in  no  hurry,  and  enjoyed  his  advantage. 
"I  thought  you  was  up  to  something,  Frank.  Gert's 
pretty  sharp,  but  Lord,  she's  only  a  woman.  You 
fooled  her  a  bunch.  She  reely  thought  you'd  got  a 
change  of  heart.  So  you  want  to  cut  up  the  money 
all  by  your  lonely,  eh?  Well,  now,  what'll  you  give 
to  have  me  pull  out  of  it  ?" 

"I'll  give  you  five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Granthope. 

"Nothin'  doin',"  said  Vixley  decidedly.  "Why,  it's 
worth  more  than  that  to  me  just  as  it  stands,  and  I 
ain't  but  just  begun.  If  you  can't  do  better  than  that, 
why,  it's  no  use  talkin'." 

"I  asked  you  what  you  wanted.  Let's  have  it,  and 
I'll  talk  business." 

"Payson's  pretty  well  fixed,"  .said  Vixley.  "I 
s'pose  if  you  marry  the  girl  you'll  get  a  good  wad  of 
his  money." 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE    MIRROR         319 

"Never  mind  the  girl.    I  want  to  buy  you  out." 

"Well,  I'd  have  to  think  it  over.  You  know  we  got 
a  great  scheme,  and  if  it  works  it'll  mean  a  steady  in- 
come. But  I  don't  mind  turnin'  over  money  quick. 
You  make  it  a  thousand  dollars  and  I'll  agree  to  leave 
you  alone,  and  pull  off  Gert  into  the  bargain.  You'll 
have  to  fix  Masterson  yourself.  I  don't  trust  him." 

Granthope  began  to  walk  the  room  again,  thinking. 
He  returned  finally,  to  say:  "It  won't  do  merely  for 
you  to  agree  to  keep  out  of  it.  I  know  you  too  well. 
This  is  a  business  agreement.  If  I  give  you  a  thou- 
sand, will  you  leave  town?  That's  my  offer." 

Vixley  reflected.  "That  ain't  so  much.  I  dunno  as 
I  could  afford  to  spoil  my  whole  business  for  that." 

"Pshaw.     You  don't  make  that  in  a  year!" 

"Not  last  year,  perhaps,  but  I  expect  to  this." 

"Then  you  refuse?" 

"Wait  a  minute.    Have  you  got  the  money  on  hand  ?" 

"No,  I  haven't."  Granthope's  face  clouded.  "But 
I  have  an  idea  I  might  raise  it.  I  could  pay  you  in 
instalments.  But  you'd  have  to  be  outside  of  Califor- 
nia to  get  it.  That's  understood." 

Vixley  rose.  "Well,  when  you've  got  the  money 
you  can  begin  to  talk.  If  you  can  raise  it,  as  you 
say,  I  may  agree.  After  all,  I  could  use  a  thou'  just  at 
present,  and  I  s'pose  I  could  operate  in  Chicago  till 
you  let  me  come  back.  Say  I  accept." 

"All  right.  As  soon  as  I  can  raise  five  hundred, 
I'll  see  you,  and  buy  your  ticket.  Until  then,  I  expect 
you  to  leave  Payson  alone." 

"Will  you  leave  him  alone?  That's  the  question! 
I  don't  propose  to  have  no  interference  until  you  make 
good  with  the  money." 


320  THE    HEART    LINE 

"I'll  make  good,  all  right,"  said  Granthope. 

"Very  well,  then."  Vixley  rose  and  buttoned  what 
buttons  were  left  on  his  coat.  "When  you're  ready  to 
do  business,  I'm  ready.  But  you  see  here!"  He 
shook  a  long,  bony  finger  at  the  palmist.  "If  you  go 
to  work  and  try  any  gum-games  with  the  old  man  be- 
fore then,  Frank,  I'll  break  you — like  that  there  hand." 
He  pointed  down  to  the  cast  on  the  floor.  Then  he 
added  easily :  "Not  that  it  would  do  you  any  good  if 
you  did,  though.  I'll  attend  to  that.  I  got  to  protect 
myself.  It'll  be  easy  enough  to  fix  it  so  the  old  man 
won't  take  much  stock  in  what  you  tell  him." 

"I  expect  that's  so,"  Granthope  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "I  don't  mind  saying  that  if  I  thought  I  could 
do  anything  that  way,  I  would." 

"So  long,  then.  The  sooner  you  make  your  bid, 
the  cheaper  it'll  be."  He  turned  from  the  door  and 
looked  the  palmist  over.  "You're  a  good  one,  Frank. 
I  don't  deny  you  got  brains.  I  wouldn't  mind  knowin' 
just  what  you  was  up  to.  It  must  be  something  ele- 
gant." He  came  up  to  Granthope  and  gestured  with 
both  hands.  "Say — why  don't  you  let  me  in?  We 
could  work  it  together,  and  I'll  lose  Gertie.  I  ain't 
no  fool,  myself,  when  it  comes  right  down  to  business." 

Granthope  laughed  sarcastically.  "I  hardly  think 
you  can  help  much  in  this.  It's  a  rather  delicate  prop- 
osition, and  I'll  have  to  go  it  alone.  Just  as  soon  as  I 
get  the  cash  I'll  let  you  know." 

For  an  hour  after  that  Granthope  sat  in  his  office 
thinking  it  over.  His  offer  to  Vixley  had  come  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  and,  although  he  did  not  regret 
it,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  he  could  make  it  good. 
He  went  over  his  accounts  carefully,  inspected  his 


A   LOOK   INTO   THE   MIRROR        321 

bank-book,  made  a  valuation  of  his  property.  He 
could  see  no  way,  at  present,  to  raise  sufficient  money 
to  buy  Vixley  off,  and  yet  to  sit  still  and  let  him  go  on 
with  Clytie's  father  was  intolerable.  He  had  seen  men 
ruined  by  such  wiles,  and  his  own  conscience  was  not 
clean  in  this  matter.  There  seemed  no  way  of  escape. 

Late  that  afternoon  he  decided  to  call  on  Fancy 
Gray.  He  had  hardly  seen  her  since  the  night  she 
left,  and  he  was  troubled  in  her  regard,  also.  He 
dreaded  to  know  just  what  she  was  doing,  and  how 
she  stood  it.  He  had  long  attempted  to  deny  to  him- 
self that  she  cared  too  much  for  him,  and  always 
their  fiction  had  been  maintained — that  fiction  which, 
during  their  pretty  idyl  at  Alma,  so  long  ago,  had 
crystallized  itself  into  their  whimsical  motto:  "No 
fair  falling  in  love !"  He  had  kept  their  pact  well 
enough.  He  dared  not  answer  for  her. 

Fancy  lived  in  a  three-story  house  on  O'Farrell 
Street,  near  Jones  Street,  a  place  back  from  the  side- 
walk, with  a  garden  in  front  and  on  one  side.  Fancy 
had  a  room  on  the  attic  floor,  with  two  dormer  win- 
dows giving  upon  the  front  yard.  As  Granthope 
turned  in  the  gate  and  looked  up  at  her  windows,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  one  of  them  raised.  Fancy's  arm 
appeared,  a  straw  hat  in  her  hand.  The  next  instant 
the  hat  sailed  gracefully  out  into  the  air,  curving  like 
an  aeroplane.  It  dropped  nearly  at  his  feet.  He 
picked  it  up,  thinking  that  she  would  look  out  after  it, 
but  instead,  the  sash  was  lowered. 

A  minute  afterward  a  young  man,  bareheaded,  and 
apparently  violently  enraged,  appeared  at  the  front 
door.  Granthope  walked  up  and  presented  the  hat  to 


322  THE    HEART    LINE 

Mr.  Gay  P.  Summer,  who  took  it,  staring,  without  a 
word  of  thanks,  and  stalked  sulkily  away. 

The  door  being  left  open,  Granthope  walked  up 
three  flights  of  stairs  and  knocked  at  Fancy's  room. 
There  was  no  reply.  He  called  to  her.  The  door  was 
instantly  flung  open. 

"Why,  hello,  Frank!  Excuse  me.  I  thought  it 
was  my  meal-ticket  coming  back  to  bore  me  to  death 
again."  Fancy  began  to  laugh.  "You  ought  to  have 
seen  him.  He  simply  wouldn't  go,  after  I'd  given 
him  twenty-three  gilt-edged  tips,  and  so  I  had  to 
throw  his  hat  out  of  the  window  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"I  saw  him.  I  think  he  won't  come  back.  He 
looked  rather  uncomfortable." 

Fancy  sat  down  on  the  bed  unconcernedly,  clasping 
her  hands  on  her  crossed  knees,  while  Granthope 
took  a  seat  upon  a  trunk. 

"Say,  Frank,  these  people  who  expect  to  annex  all 
your  time  and  pay  for  it  in  fifty  cent  table  d'hotes  are 
beginning  to  make  me  tired.  There's  nothing  so  ex- 
pensive as  free  dinners,  I've  found!  The  minute  you 
let  a  man  buy  you  a  couple  of  eggs,  he  thinks  he's  in 
a  position  to  dictate  to  you  for  the  rest  of  eternity. 
Why,  one  dinner  means  he's  hired  you  till  eleven 
o'clock,  and  I  run  out  of  excuses  long  before  that. 
No,  you  don't  get  anything  free  in  this  world,  and 
many  a  girl's  found  that  out !" 

Granthope  smiled.  Fancy  was  at  her  prettiest,  with 
a  whimsical  animation  that  he  knew  of  old.  Nothing 
delighted  him  so  much  as  Fancy  in  her  semi-philo- 
sophic vein. 

She  ran  on :  "Gay  has  just  proposed  to  me  again — 
I've  lost 'tally,  now.  'The  one  good  thing  about  him 


A   LOOK    INTO    THE   MIRROR         323 

is  that  he's  always  ready  to  make  good  with  the  ring 
whenever  I  say  the  word.  He  takes  me  seriously  just 
because  I  never  explain.  But  all  the  encouragement 
I've  ever  given  him  is  to  accept.  Gay's  the  kind  that 
always  calls  you  'Little  girl,'  no  matter  how  high  you 
are,  and  tells  you  you're  'brave'!  There's  no  one 
quite  like  you,  Frank — " 

As  she  spoke,  her  gaiety  slowly  oozed  away,  till  she 
sat  almost  plaintively  watching  him.  Then  she  smiled 
and  shook  her  head  slowly.  "Don't  get  frightened, 
I  won't  do  anything  foolish."  She  sprang  up  and 
tossed  her  head.  Then,  turning  to  him,  she  said :  "Say, 
Frank,  do  you  know  Blanchard  Cayley  ?" 

"Why,  I've  just  heard  of  him,  that's  all.  He's  a 
friend  of  Miss  Payson's." 

"She  isn't — fond  of  him,  is  she?"  Fancy  demanded. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!    Why?" 

"Nothing.  Only,  I  met  him,  one  night,  at  Car- 
minetti's.  Gay  had  just  thrown  me  down  hard.  He 
came  round,  afterward,  and  apologized."  Fancy 
looked  across  the  room  abstractedly  as  she  talked. 
Upon  the  wall  were  strung  a  collection  of  empty  chianti 
bottles  in  their  basket-work  shells,  a  caricature  by 
Maxim,  a  circus  poster  and  other  evidence  of  her 
recent  conversion  to  the  artistic  life.  She  spoke  with 
a  queer  introspective  manner.  "I  had  a  queer  feeling 
about  Mr.  Cayley.  You  know,  for  all  I'm  such  a 
scatterbrain,  I  do  like  a  man  with  a  mind.  I  like  to 
look  up  to  a  man.  He's  awfully  well-read.  Of 
course,  he  isn't  as  clever  as  you,  but  he  sort  of  fas- 
cinates me — I  don't  know  why.  He  interests  me, 
although  I  can't  understand  half  he  says.  I  suppose 
he  makes  me  forget.  There's  nothing  like  knowing 


324  THE   HEART    LINE 

how  to  forget.  But  you're  sure  Miss  Payson  isn't  too 
fond  of  him?" 

"I'd  like  to  be  surer,"  said  Granthope.  He,  too, 
was  looking  fixedly  across  the  room — at  the  mottoes 
and  texts  upon  the  wall,  on  the  mantel,  and  over  her 
bed— "Do  it  Now!"  "Nothing  Succeeds  like  Suc- 
cess"— and  such  platitudes  as,  printed  in  red  and 
black,  are  sold  at  bookshops  for  the  moral  education  of 
those  unable  to  think  for  themselves. 

Fancy  slid  gently  off  the  bed,  and  dropped  to  the 
floor  in  front  of  him.  Her  hand  stole  fondly  for  his, 
and  clasped  it,  petting  it. 

"How  is  she,  Frank?" 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  hair  and  smoothed  it  af- 
fectionately. "Fine,  Fancy,  fine." 

"Oh— I  hope  it's  all  right,  Frank." 

"I  don't  know,  Fancy.  You'd  hardly  recognize  me, 
these  days.  I'm  losing  my  sense  of  humor.  I'm  be- 
coming a  prig,  I  think." 

Fancy  laughed.  "Well,  there's  plenty  of  room  in 
that  direction.  But  I  don't  think  she'd  mind  your 
being  a  devil  occasionally.  Women  don't  have  to  be 
saints  to  be  thoroughbreds.  And  there's  many  a  saint 
that  would  like  to  take  a  day  off,  once  in  a  while !" 

"Have  you  seen  Vixley,  lately?" 

Fancy  grew  serious.  "No.  Is  he  still  working  the 
old  man?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  saw  him  to-day.  I  offered 
him  a  thousand  dollars  to  leave  town,  Fancy." 

Fancy  looked  up  at  him  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 
"Why,  Frank!  What  do  you  mean?  A  thousand 
dollars?  Why,  you  haven't  got  that  much,  have  you?" 

"No,    Not  yet,    But  I'll  get  it,  somehow." 


A   LOOK    INTO   THE   MIRROR        325 

"You  mean — that  you're  trying — to  save  Payson — 
on  her  account,  Frank?" 

He  avoided  her  glance.  "On  her  account — and  per- 
haps my  own." 

Fancy  rose  impulsively  and  put  her  arms  about  him. 
"Do  let  me  hug  you,  Frank,  just  once !" 

He  saw  her  eyes  grow  soft.  She  released  herself 
quickly,  as  if  the  embrace,  simple  as  it  was,  hurt  her. 
She  stood  in  front  of  him  and  watched  him  soberly. 

"Frank,  7  never  could  make  you — "  She  stopped, 
the  tears  welling  in  her  eyes.  Then  she  turned  and 
ran  out  of  the  room. 

He  rose,  too,  and  paced  up  and  down,  wondering  at 
her  mood.  His  track  was  short,  for  the  roof  sloped  on 
one  side,  and  the  place  was  encumbered  with  Fancy's 
paraphernalia  and  furniture.  His  eyes  fell,  after  a 
while,  upon  a  cigar  box  on  her  bureau.  It  stood 
upright,  under  the  mirror,  and  had  little  doors,  glued 
on  with  paper  hinges,  so  that  the  two  opened,  like  the 
front  of  a  Japanese  shrine  of  Buddha.  He  went  to 
it  and  looked  at  it.  Thoughtlessly,  with  no  idea  of 
committing  an  indiscretion,  little  suspecting  that  it 
could  hold  anything  private  or  sacred,  he  swung  the 
little  doors  open.  Then  he  shut  them  hastily  and 
walked  to  the  window  with  a  clutch  at  his  heart.  In- 
side he  had  seen  his  own  photograph.  Before  it  was 
a  little  glass  jar  with  a  few  violets.  They  were  fresh, 
fragrant.  Lettered  upon  a  strip  of  paper  pasted  on 
the  inside  was  the  inscription: 

No  Fair  Falling  In  Love. 

He  walked  away  hurriedly  to  stare  hard  out  of 
the  window. 


3*6  THE    HEART    LINE 

She  came  into  the  room  again  as  he  composed  him- 
self, and  her  face,  newly  washed,  was  radiant.  She 
reseated  herself  upon  the  bed,  and,  taking  up  a  pair  of 
stockings,  proceeded  to  darn  a  small  hole  in  the  heel. 

"Have  you  got  a  position,  Fancy?" 

She  laughed.  "Vixley  wrote  me  a  note  and  told 
me  he  had  a  job  for  me  if  I  wanted  it,  but  I  turned 
him  down.  You  couldn't  guess  what  I  am  doing, 
Frank." 

"What?" 

"Detective."    She  looked  up  innocently. 

"You  don't  mean — " 

"No!  Just  little  jobs  for  the  chief  of  police,  that's 
all.  I'm  investigating  doctors  who  practise  without 
a  license,  that's  all.  I  say,  Masterson  had  better  look 
out  or  he'll  get  pulled." 

"I'm  sorry  you  haven't  anything  better,  Fancy. 
Miss  Payson  said  she'd  get  you  a  place  in  her  father's 
office  if  you'd  go.  Would  you  ?" 

"No."    Fancy's  eyes  were  upon  her  needle. 

"Why  not?" 

"Frank,"  she  said,  "do  you  remember  asking  me 
to  inquire  about  that  soldier  the  little  girl  with  freckles 
wanted  to  find  ?" 

"Yes.  I  thought  you  said  that  the  ticket  agent  at 
the  ferry  had  left,  and  so  you  couldn't  get  anything." 

"He  was  only  off  on  a  vacation.  He's  come  back, 
and  I  saw  him  yesterday.  He  remembered  that  soldier 
perfectly — I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  fail  to — 
he  must  look  awful.  He  said  he  bought  a  ticket  for 
Santa  Barbara." 

"That's  good.  I  hope  she'll  come  in  again,"  said 
Granthope.  "She  was  a  nice  little  thing." 


A    LOOK    INTO    THE    MIRROR         327 

"She  was  real,  Frank,  and  that's  what  few  people 
are,  nowadays." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  minute.  "There's  no  doubt 
that  you  are,  Fancy." 

"1  wish  I  were.     I'm  only  a  drifter,  Frank."     She 
kept  on  with  her  darning,  not  looking  up. 
v    "Fancy,  I  want  to  do  something  for  you.     Won't 
you  let  me  help  you?" 

"I'm  all  right,  Frank.  I  told  you  I  wanted  to  have 
some  fun  before  I  settled  down  again.  But  if  I  ever 
do  need  anything,  I'll  let  you  know." 

"Promise  me  that — that  whenever  you  want  me, 
you'll  send  for  me,  or  come  to  me,  Fancy !" 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes  frankly.  "I  promise, 
Frank.  When  I  need  you,  I'll  come." 

She  was  a  blither  spirit  after  that,  till  he  took  his 
leave.  It  had  been  an  eventful  day  for  Francis  Grant- 
hope.  He  had  swung  round  almost  the  whole  circle  of 
emotions.  But  not  quite. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  FIRST   TURNING   TO  THE   LEFT 

At  five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  Blanchard  Cayley 
was  sitting  at  a  window  of  his  club,  opening  the  letters 
which  he  had  just  taken  from  his  box  in  the  office. 
He  had  his  hat  on,  a  trait  which  always  aroused  the 
ire  of  the  older  members.  Beside  him,  upon  a  small 
table,  was  a  glass  of  "orange  squeeze,"  which  he 
sipped  at  intervals. 

At  this  hour  there  were  some  twenty  members  in  the 
large  room  reading,  talking  or  playing  dominoes. 
Others  came  in  and  went  out  occasionally,  and  of  these 
more  than  half  approached  Cayley  to  say  effusively: 
"Hello,  old  man,  how  goes  it?"  or  some  such  simi- 
larly luminous  remark.  This  was  as  offensive  to  Cay- 
ley as  the  wearing  of  his  hat  in  the  club  was  to  the  old 
men.  Nothing  annoyed  him  so  much  as  to  be  inter- 
rupted while  reading  his  letters.  Yet  he  always 
looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  replied: 

"Oh,  so-so — what's  the  news?" 

To  be  sure,  Cayley's  mail  to-day  was  not  so  im- 
portant that  these  hindrances  much  mattered.  The 
study  of  Esperanto  was  his  latest  fad.  With  several 
Misses,  Frauleins  and  Mademoiselles  on  the  official  list 
of  the  "Esperantistoj,"  and  whom  he  suspected  of 
being  young  and  beautiful,  he  had  begun  a  systematic 
correspondence.  The  greater  part  of  the  answers  he 
received  were  dull  and  innocuous,  written  on  pic- 
ture post-cards.  From  Odessa,  from  Siberia,  Rio  de 

328 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    329 

Janeiro,  Cambodia,  Moldavia  and  New  Zealand  such 
missives  came.  Those  which  were  merely  perfunctory, 
or  showed  but  a  desire  to  obtain  a  San  Francisco 
post-card  for  a  growing  collection,  he  threw  into  the 
waste-basket.  Others,  whose  originality  promised  a 
flirtation  more  affording,  he  answered  ingeniously. 

A  man  suddenly  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Hello,  Blanchard,  have  a  game  of  dominoes  ?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"Come  and  have  a  drink,  then." 

"No,  thanks,  I'm  on  the  wagon  now." 

"Go  to  the  devil." 

"Same  to  you." 

The  man  grinned  and  dropped  into  a  big  chair  op- 
posite Cayley  and  lighted  a  cigar.  Then  his  glance 
wandered  out  of  the  window.  Cayley  put  the  bunch  of 
letters  in  his  pocket  and  yawned. 

"By  Jove,  there's  a  peach  over  there,"  said  the  man. 
Cayley  turned  and  looked. 

"In  front  of  the  shoe  store.    See  ?" 

She  was  standing,  looking  idly  into  the  show  win- 
dow— a  figure  in  gray  and  red.  Scarlet  cuffs,  scarlet 
collar,  scarlet  silk  gloves.  Her  form  was  trim  and 
her  carriage  jaunty. 

It  was  Fancy  Gray — drifting.  She  stood,  hesi- 
tating, and  shot  a  glance  up  to  the  second  story  of 
the  club  house  where  the  men  sat.  She  caught  Cay- 
ley's  eye  and  smiled,  showing  her  white  teeth.  Her 
eyebrows  went  up.  Then  she  turned  down  the  street 
and  walked  slowly  away. 

"Say,"  said  the  man,  "was  that  for  you  or  for  me, 
Blan?" 

"I  expect  it  must  have  been  for  me.     Good  day." 


330  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Something  doing?    Well,  good  luck!" 

Cayley  walked  briskly  out  of  the  room,  got  his  hat, 
and  ran  down  the  front  steps.  Fancy  was  already 
half  a  block  ahead  of  him,  nearing  Kearney  Street. 
He  caught  up  with  her  before  she  turned  the  cor- 
ner. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you  for  three  weeks,"  he 
began. 

She  paused  and  gave  him  a  saucy  smile.  "You 
ought  to  be  treated  for  it,"  was  her  somewhat  ellipti- 
cal reply. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  pretty  slow,  but  I've  got  you  now. 
It  seems  to  me  you're  looking  pretty  nimble." 

"Really?    I  hope  I'll  do." 

"Fancy  Gray,  you'll  indubitably  do.  Won't  you 
come  to  dinner  with  me  somewhere,  where  we  can 
talk?" 

"I  accept,"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

"Are  you  still  with  Granthope?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  second  before  replying.  "No, 
I  .left  last  week." 

"What's  the  row?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  I  got  tired  of  it." 

"That's  not  true,"  he  said,  looking  into  her  eyes, 
which  had  dimmed. 

"Cut  it  out  then,  I  don't  care  to  talk  about  it." 

"I  bet  he  didn't  treat  you  square.  He's  too  much 
of  a  bounder." 

At  this  her  face  flamed  and  she  stopped  suddenly  on 
the  sidewalk,  drawing  herself  away  from  him. 
"Don't,"  she  pleaded,  "don't,  please,  or  I  can't  go 
with  you — " 

He  saw  now  what  was  in  her  eyes  and  put  his  hand 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    331 

into  her  arm  again.  "Come  along,  little  girl,  I  won't 
worry  you,"  he  said  gently.  And  they  walked  on. 

She  recovered  her  spirits  in  a  few  moments,  but  the 
sparkling  of  her  talk  was  like  the  waves  on  the  sur- 
face of  an  invisible  current  sweeping  her  toward  him. 
It  was  too  evident  for  him,  used  as  he  was  to  women, 
not  to  notice  it.  She  was  a  little  embarrassed,  and  such 
self-consciousness  sat  strangely  on  her  face.  Behind 
that  flashing  smile  and  the  quick  glances  of  her  eye 
something  slumbered,  an  emotion  alien  to  such  deb- 
onair moods  as  was  her  wont  to  express,  and  as  foreign 
to  the  deeper  secret  feelings  she  concealed.  Her 
eyes  had  darkened  to  a  deeper  brown,  the  iris  almost 
as  dark  as  the  pupils.  Cayley  did,  as  she  had  said, 
fascinate  her.  Whether  the  charm  was  most  physical 
or  mental  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  but  her  demeanor 
showed  that  it  partook  of  both  elements.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  it. 

He  began  to  play  upon  her.  He  took  her  arm  affec- 
tionately, and  the  tips  of  his  fingers  rested  upon  the 
little,  cool  circle  of  her  wrist  above  her  gloves.  She 
did  not  remove  his  hand.  His  eyes  sought  hers  again 
and  again,  vanquishing  them  with  his  meaning  glances. 
Her  pulse  beat  faster.  She  talked  excitedly.  A  soft 
wave  of  color  swept  up  from  her  neck. 

"Suppose  we  dine  at  the  Toodle  Dog'?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"I'm  game,"  she  replied ;  "I  like  a  quiet  place  where 
there's  no  music." 

"We  can  get  a  room  up-stairs  where  we  won't  be 
interrupted." 

"Anywhere  for  mine.  I've  got  a  blue  bean  and  I'd 
like  to  be  cheered  up." 


332  THE    HEART    LINE 

She  was  cheered  up  to  an  unwonted  pitch  by  the 
time  the  dinner  was  over.  As  she  sat,  flushed,  mettle- 
some with  wine,  thrilling  to  his  advances,  he  plied  her 
artfully,  and  she  responded  with  less  and  less  dis- 
cretion. She  could  not  conceal  her  impulse  towards 
him. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  pretty?"  she  asked,  her  eyes 
burning. 

"Indeed  you  are — you're  beautiful!"  he  said,  his 
hand  resting  on  hers. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  beautiful — that's  what  you 
are  when  you're  queer  and  woozly — like  the  girls 
Maxim  paints,"  she  pouted.  "They're  awful  frights— 
they're  never  pretty.  I  want  to  be  just  pretty,  not 
handsome  or  good-looking  or  anything  apologetic 
like  that — that's  what  men  call  a  girl  when  she  can't 
make  good  with  her  profile.  You've  got  to  tell  me  I'm 
pretty,  Blan,  or  I  won't  be  satisfied." 

"You  certainly  are  pretty,"  he  laughed,  as  he  filled 
her  glass. 

"That  makes  me  almost  happy  again,"  she  mused. 
"Let's  forget  everything  and  everybody  else  in  the 
world.  It's  funny  how  I've  been  thinking  about  you 
and  wondering  if  I'd  ever  see  you  again.  .  I  had  a  good 
mind  to  put  a  personal  in  the  Chronicle.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  simply  had  to  see  you,  all  this  week. 
Wasn't  it  funny  at  Carminetti's  ?  I  guess  I  was 
struck  by  lightning  that  time.  You  certainly  did 
wireless  me.  It's  fierce  to  own  up  to  it,  Blan,  but  I 
like  you.  I've  stood  men  off  ever  since  I  was  old 
enough  to  know  what  they  wanted,  but  youVe  got  me 
hypnotized.  How  did  you  do  it?"  She  laughed 
restlessly. 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    333 

"Why,  if  I  hadn't  thought  you  were  a  little  too  thick 
with  Granthope,  I  would  have  looked  you  up  before." 

"I  haven't  been  there  for  a  week.  The  wide,  wide 
world  for  mine,  now." 

"That's  pretty  tough,  to  fire  you  after  you'd  been 
with  him  for  two  years,  isn't  it  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  that,  really,  Blan;  it's 
all  right." 

He  poured  out  another  glass  of  champagne  for  her 
and  she  drank  it  excitedly.  Cayley  still  caressed  her 
free  hand,  but  his  eyes  were  not  upon  her;  he  was 
thinking  intently.  She  took  his  head  in  her  two  hands 
and  turned  it  gently  in  her  direction. 

"There!  That's  where  you  want  to  look.  Here  is 
Fancy,  Blan,  right  here." 

"I  see  you.  I  was  only  thinking — do  you  know,  you 
look  like  the  pictures  of  Cleopatra?"  he  suggested. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Cleopatra,  Fancy?" 

She  laughed.  "I  guess  I  ought  to — I  played  Cleo- 
patra once." 

"Did  you  really — where?— comic  opera  or  vaude- 
ville?" 

"Oh,  never  mind  where — I  made  a  hit  all  right." 
She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  clasping  her  hands  behind 
her  head,  smiling  to  herself.  A  tress  of  hair  had 
fallen  across  her  ear ;  it  did  not  mar  her  beauty. 

"I'll  bet  you  got  every  hand  in  the  house,  too." 

Fancy  became  suddenly  convulsed  with  giggles.  She 
sipped  her  glass  and  choked  as  she  tried  to  swallow 
the  wine. 

Cayley  passed  this  mysterious  mirth  without  com- 
ment. "Granthope  looks  as  if  he  had  been  an  actor, 
too." 


334  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Oh,  yes,  we  played  together — but  only  as  ama- 
teurs." She  smiled  mischievously. 

Cayley  followed  her  up.  "He  has  a  fine  presence ;  I 
should  think  he'd  be  good  at  it.  He  has  lots  of  women 
running  after  him,  hasn't  he?" 

"Oh,  he  did  have — women  to  throw  at  the  birds — 
women  to  warm  up  for  supper — women  to  burn,  and 
he  burned  'em,  too.  But  he  won't  stand  for  them 
now,"  said  Fancy. 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  he  stung?"  He  filled  her 
glass  again. 

"Yep.  He's  cut  'em  all  out — even  me.  That's  why 
I'm  here." 

"But  he  works  them,  though?" 

"Oh,  no,  Blan,  Frank's  straight,  sure  he  is.  He 
doesn't  graft  any  more.  He  hasn't  for — some  time." 

"I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Cayley. 

"Oh,  of  course,  he  investigates  cases  sometimes,  but 
he  don't  work  with  cappers  the  way  he  did.  He's 
going  in  for  high  society  now,  and  he  doesn't  need  to 
do  anything  but  wear  a  swallow-tail  and  get  up  on 
his  hind  legs  and  drink  tea." 

Blanchard  took  a  chance  shot.  "I  hear  he's  trying 
to  marry  a  rich  girl." 

Fancy,  for  the  first  time,  seemed  to  come  to  herself. 
She  looked  hard  at  Cayley.  "What  are  you  driving 
at,  Blan?  What  do  you  want  to  talk  about  that  for? 
It's  all  off  between  me  and  Frank,  but  I'm  not  going 
to  knock  him.  He's  all  right,  Frank  is.  I'd  rather 
talk  about  Me,  please !  Talk  about  Fancy,  Blan,  won't 
you?  Fancy's  so  tired  of  talking  shop." 

Her  elbow  was  upon  the  table  and  her  little  round 
chin  in  her  palm,  as  she  looked  at  him  under  drooping, 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    335 

languorous  lids.  "How  pretty  am  I,  Blan  ?  Tell  me ! 
There's  nothing  quite  so  satisfactory,  after  a  good 
dinner,  as  to  hear  how  pretty  you  are." 

He  looked  quizzically  at  her,  and  quoted :  "  'Tout 
re  pas  est  exquis  qui  a  un  kaiser  pour  dessert.' " 

"What  does  that  mean,  Blan?  I  don't  understand 
Dago  talk." 

"It  means  that  you're  pretty  enough  to  eat,  and 
I'm  going  to  eat  you,"  he  replied,  making  a  motion 
toward  her. 

She  put  him  off  gaily,  but  only  as  if  to  delay  the 
situation.  "Oh,  pshaw!  haven't  you  had  enough  to 
eat  yet?  That  won't  go  with  me;  Blan;  I've  got  to 
have  real  eighteen  carat  flattery  put  on  with  a  knife. 
I  can  stand  any  amount  of  it.  I  love  it !  Whether  you 
mean  it  or  not — I  don't  care,  so  long  as  it  sounds 
nice,  I'll  believe  it.  I'll  believe  anything  to-night. 
Now,  how  do  you  like  my  eyes,  Blan  ?" 

He  took  a  long,  close  look  at  them,  then  with  an 
amused  smile  he  said :  "Mountain  lakes  at  sunset  shot 
with  refracted  fires.  Or,  electric  light  on  champagne — 
will  that  do?" 

Fancy  pouted.  "I  knew  a  fellow  once  who  told  me 
they  were  just  like  the  color  of  stones  in  the  bed  of  the 
brook  .  .  .  When  I  was  up  at  Piedra  Pinta,  I  looked 
in  a  shallow  part  of  the  creek — where  I  could  see  my 
reflection  and  the  bottom  at  the  same  time  .  .  ." 
Her  voice  died  off  in  a  dreamy  monotone;  then  she 
looked  up  at  him  again  sleepily. 

"How  about  my  nose?" 

"Thy  nose  is  as  the  tower  of  Lebanon  which  looketh 
toward  Damascus,"  he  quoted. 

"Whatever  does  that  mean?"    She  opened  her  eyes 


336  THE    HEART   LINE 

as  wide  as  she  could.  "Is  my  poor  old  nose  as  big  as 
that?"  She  felt  of  it  solemnly. 

"It  is  straight  and  strong  and  full  of  character. 
And  Thy  lips  are  like  a  thread  of  scarlet,  .  .  .  thy 
teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep  .  .  .  which  come  up 
from  the  washing;  whereof  every  one  bear  twins." 

"That's  very  swell,  indeed,"  said  Fancy,  "is  it  orig- 
inal?" 

He  laughed.  "No.  It's  from  one  of  the  oldest 
poems  in  the  world." 

"I'd  like  to  read  that  book."  Fancy  was  getting 
drowsy.  "Tell  me  some  more." 

"Thine  head  upon  thee  is  like  Carmel  .  .  ." 

"I'm  glad  we're  getting  into  California  at  last." 

"And  the  hair  of  thine  head  like  purple;  — " 

She  shook  her  head,  "Oh,  no,  don't  call  it  purple, 
please.  Frank  says  it's  Romanesque." 

"Thy  neck  is  as  a  tower  of  ivory." 

"That's  the  second  tower,"  said  Fancy,  closing  her 
eyes,  "I  guess  that'll  be  about  all  for  the  towers.  I 
think  I'd  rather  have  you  make  it  up  as  you  go  along. 
It's  more  complimentary."  She  laid  her  head  upon 
her  arms  on  the  table.  "My  ears  are  really  something 
fierce,  aren't  they?" 

Cayley  touched  them  in  investigation.  "They're  a 
bit  too  small,  of  course,  and  they're  very  pink,  but 
they're  like  rosy  seaTshells  touched  by  the  dawn." 

Fancy  murmured  softly:  "'She  sells  sea-shells.  She 
shells  sea-shells — She  shells  she  shells' — say,  I'm  get- 
ting woozly." 

She  roused  herself  to  laugh  softly ;  her  head  drooped 
again. 

"Then  I'll  let  you  kiss  them — once !"  she  whispered. 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT     337 

"I'm  afraid  I  talked  too  much  last  night,"  she  said 
to  him  the  next  evening.  "I  hope  I  didn't  say  any- 
thing, did  I?  I  didn't  quite  know  what  I  was  doing. 
Funny  how  the  red  stuff  throws  you  down!" 

"Oh,  no,  you  didn't  give  anything  away.  You're 
pretty  safe,  for  a  woman." 

"Coffee's  what  makes  me  talk,"  she  said,  "if  you 
ever  want  to  make  me  loosen  up,  try  about  four  small 
blacks  and  I'll  use  up  the  dictionary." 

He  saw  her  nearly  every  day  after  tha.t;  but,  even 
with  the  aid  of  coffee,  he  was  unsuccessful  in  his 
attempts  to  make  her  more  communicative.  At  the 
mention  of  Granthope's  name  she  froze  into  silence 
or  changed  the  subject. 

A  few  days  after  the  dinner  he  invited  her  across 
the  bay  to  Tiburon  where  Sully  Maxwell  had  given 
him  the  use  of  one  of  the  dozen  or  more  house-boats 
anchored  in  the  little  harbor/  Fancy  was  delighted  at 
the  prospect  of  a  day  with  him,  and  early  on  Sunday 
morning  she  was  ready  at  the  ferry.  As  she  waited 
with  her  basket  of  provisions,  saucily  and  picturesquely 
dressed  in  a  cheap  outing  costume  of  linen,  Dougal 
and  Elsie  came  up  to  her. 

"Hello,  Queen,"  Dougal  cried,  and  he  shook  both 
her  hands  heartily,  his  round  gargoyle  face  illuminated 
with  cordiality.  "Where  have  you  been  all  this  time? 
We'll  have  to  try  you  for  desertion.  You  haven't  ab- 
dicated, have  you?  We've  been  wanting  to  find  you 
and  have  you  go  up  to  Piedra  Pinta  with  us.  The 
bunch  is  all  up  there  now;  Elsie  and  I  were  only  just 
able  to  get  off.  Can't  you  come  along  with  us  ?" 

"Oh,  do!"  Elsie  pleaded,  putting  her  arm  about 
Fancy's  slender  waist. 


338  THE   HEART   LINE 

"No,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't,  really ;  I'm  going  to  Ti- 
buron  with  Blanchard  Cayley." 

Dougal's  face  clouded.  "Say,  what  do  you  want  to 
run  with  that  lobster  for?  You're  altogether  too 
good  for  him." 

"I  guess  I'm  in  love  with  him,"  said  Fancy,  still 
holding  Dougal's  hand  and  looking  up  into  his  face 
with  a  quaint  expression. 

"You  aren't!"  they  chorused. 

"Oh,  I  am,  I  am;  I'm  sure  I  am!"  she  repeated 
insistently.  "I've  liked  him  ever  since  the  first  time 
I  saw  him.  What's  the  use  of  pretending?  Don't  say 
anything  against  him,  please.  I'm  so  happy — I'm 
perfectly  happy,  Dougal."  The  tears  came  to  her 
eyes. 

"I  know  what'll  happen,"  Dougal  said,  his  pale  eye- 
brows drawn  together.  "He'll  play  with  you  for  a 
while,  and  then  he'll  throw  you  down  hard  as  soon  as 
he's  through  with  you,  or  another  girl  comes  along." 

"Then  I  hope  she  won't  show  up  for  a  good  while," 
said  Fancy  cavalierly. 

"And  when  it's  over?"  said  Elsie. 

Fancy  dropped  her  eyes.  "When  it's  over — I  don't 
know."  She  looked  up.  "When  it's  over  I  suppose 
I'll  sell  apples  on  Market  Street.  What  else  will  there 
be  for  me  to  do?" 

"Oh,  don't;  you  frighten  me,"  Elsie  cried;  "we're 
all  so  fond  of  you,  Fancy.  Remember,  we're  your 
friends,  and  we'd  do  anything  to  help  you." 

Fancy  stooped  down  and  kissed  her.  "Don't  worry, 
Elsie,  I'm  pretty  lively  yet.  Only  you  know  I  don't 
do  things  by  halves.  I  suppose  I  take  it  rather  se- 
riously." 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    339 

Elsie  stared  at  her.    "You're  so  different." 

"Oh,  Fancy'll  get  over  this.  She  got  over  Grant- 
hope  all  right,  and  she  got  over  Gay  Summer." 

The  tears  surged  into  Fancy's  eyes  again.  "Don't 
say  that,  Dougal.  I'm  no  quitter.  I  don't  get  over 
things.  I  may  bury  them  and  cake-walk  over  their 
graves,  but  I  don't  forget  my  friends." 

He  grinned  jovially  and  wrung  her  hand  till  she 
winced,  then  he  slapped  her  on  the  back.  "Well,  you 
know  where  we  are  when  you  want  us.  We're  with 
you  for  keeps;  you  can't  lose  us,  Fancy,  remember 
that." 

Fancy  squeezed  his  big  hairy  hand. 

Elsie  added,  "But  you'll  be  awfully  talked  about. 
Fancy,  do  be  careful." 

"Will  I?"  said  Fancy.  "I  don't  care.  If  I  like  Blan 
and  he  likes  me,  I  don't  care  who  knows  it." 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  him?"  Elsie  ventured. 

"He  hasn't  said  anything  about  it — yet — but  I'm 
not  thinking  of  that.  All  I  want  is  for  somebody 
to  love  me.  I'll  be  satisfied  with  that." 

"You're  all  right,  Fancy;  only  I  hope  you're  not  in 
for  a  broken  heart,"  said  Dougal. 

"Just  imagine  Fancy  with  a  broken  heart!"  Elsie 
laughed. 

"Oh,  you  don't  believe  me,  but  you  will  sometime." 

Fancy's  eyes  were  not  for  them  all  this  while.  She 
was  watching  the  passengers  approaching  the  ferry, 
her  glance  darting  from  one  to  the  other,  scanning  the 
cable-cars  which  drew  up  at  the  terminus,  questing  up 
toward  Market  Street,  and  along  the  sidewalks  and 
crossings. 

"Have  you  left  Granthope?"  Dougal  inquired. 


340  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Yep."     Fancy,  as  usual,  did  not  explain. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  us  know  where  you  were, 
then?"  he  complained.  "I  was  up  to  the  place  the 
other  day  looking  for  you,  and  no  one  seemed  to  know 
where  you  were." 

Fancy,  still  watching  for  Cayley,  did  not  answer. 

"Have  you  got  any  money,  Fancy?" 

"Sure!"  she  answered  eagerly.  "I  have  two  dol- 
lars here — do  you  want  it?" 

"Oh,  no!"  he  laughed.  "I  was  going  to  offer  you 
some.  If  you're  out  of  a  job  you  must  need  it.  I  can 
let  you  have  twenty  or  so  easy."  He  put  his  hand  into 
his  pocket. 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  she  said: 

"I  don't  know  but  I  could  use  it,  Dougal,  if  you  can 
spare  it  as  well  as  not." 

"I'm  flush  this  week."  He  handed  her  a  gold  double 
eagle. 

"Granthope  will  lend  me  all  I  want,  or  I  could  get 
it  from  Blanchard,  but  somehow  I  hate  to  take  it  from 
them.  Of  course,  it's  all  right,  and  they  have  plenty, 
but  I'd  feel  better  borrowing  of  you,  you  know." 

"That's  the  best  thing  you've  said  yet,"  he  said, 
beaming  on  her. 

"Oh,  Dougal,  tell  her  about  the  seance,"  said  Elsie, 
as  Fancy  put  the  money  in  her  purse. 

"Oh,  yes !  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  a  materializing 
seance,  Fancy.  Do  you  know  of  a  good  one?  We 
want  to  go  some  night  and  see  the  spooks.  The  bunch 
is  going  to  have  some  fun  with  them." 

"You  want  to  look  out  for  yourself,  then.  They 
always  have  two  or  three  bouncers,  and  they'll  throw 
you  out  if  there's  any  row,  you  know." 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT     341 

Dougal  grinned  happily.  "That's  just  what  we 
want.  I  haven't  had  a  good  scrap  for  months.  Maxim 
can  handle  three  or  four  of  them  alone,  while  Benton, 
Starr  and  I  raise  a  rough  house.  We're  going  to  go 
early  and  get  front  seats." 

It  was  Fancy's  turn  to  laugh.  "You  can't  do  it, 
Dougal.  You  don't  know  the  first  rules  of  the  game. 
They  always  have  their  own  crowd  on  the  first  two 
rows,  and  they  won't  let  you  get  near  the  spirits.  They 
only  want  believers,  anyway.  If  you  aren't  careful, 
they  won't  let  you  in  at  all ;  they'll  say  all  the  seats  are 
taken.  You'd  better  go  separately  and  sit  in  different 
parts  of  the  room,  and  spot  the  bouncers  if  you  can." 

"Oh,  we'll  handle  them  all  right.  Where's  a  good 
one?" 

Fancy  reflected  a  minute.  "I  think,  perhaps,  Flora 
Flint  is  the  best.  She's  a  clever  actress,  and  she  always 
has  a  crowd.  It's  fifty  cents.  Her  place  is  on  Van 
Ness  Avenue — I  think  her  seances  are  on  Wednesday 
evenings — you'll  find  the  notice  in  the  papers.  But 
they're  pretty  smooth ;  they've  had  people  try  to  break 
up  the  show  before.  If  you  try  to  turn  on  the  light  or 
grab  any  ghost,  look  out  you  don't  get  beaten  up." 

"Oh,  you  can  trust  us;  we've  got  a  new  game,"  he 
answered. 

Then,  as  the  Sausalito  boat  was  about  to  leave,  they 
bade  Fancy  a  hurried  farewell  and  ran  for  the  en- 
trance to  the  slip.  A  few  minutes  after  this  Blanch- 
ard  Cayley  appeared,  put  his  arm  through  hers,  and 
they  went  on  board  the  ferry. 

The  harbor  of  Tiburon,  in  the  northern  part  of  San 
Francisco  Bay,  is  sheltered  on  the  west  by  the  promon- 


342  THE   HEART   LINE 

tory  of  Belvedere,  where  pretty  cottages  climb  the 
wooded  slopes,  and  on  the  south  by  Angel  Island,  with 
its  army  barracks,  hospital  and  prison.  Here  was  hud- 
dled a  little  fleet  of  house-boats  or  "arks,"  the  farthest 
outshore  of  which  belonged  to  Sully  Maxwell. 

It  was  a  queer  collection  of  architectural  amphibia, 
these  nautical  houses  floating  in  the  bay.  They  were 
of  all  sizes,  some  seemingly  too  small  to  stretch  one's 
legs  in  without  kicking  down  a  wall,  others  more  am- 
bitious in  size,  with  double  decks  and  roof-gardens. 
There  were  all  grades  and  quality  as  well ;  some  even 
had  electric  lights  and  telephone  wires  laid  to  the  shore. 
Here,  free  from  rent,  taxes  or  insurance,  the  little 
summer  colony  dwelt,  and  the  rowboats  of  butcher,  ba- 
ker and  grocer  plied  from  one  to  another.  It  was  late 
in  the  season  now,  however,  and  only  a  few  were  oc- 
cupied. A  little  later,  when  the  rains  had  set  in,  they 
would  all  be  towed  into  their  winter  quarters  to  hiber- 
nate till  spring. 

Cayley  conducted  Fancy  Gray  down  to  the  end  of 
a  wharf  where  the  skiff  was  moored,  in  the  care  of  a 
boatman,  and  after  loading  the  provisions  and  supplies 
he  had  purchased  at  the  little  French  restaurant  by  the 
station,  he  rowed  her  out  to  the  Edyth. 

The  bay  was  cloudless  and  without  fog.  The  Sep- 
tember  sun  poured  over  the  water  and  sparkled  from 
every  tiny  wave-top,  the  breeze  was  a  gentle,  easterly 
zephyr.  Cayley  seemed  younger  in  the  open  air,  and 
all  that  was  best  in  him  came  to  the  surface.  He  was 
almost  enthusiastic.  Fancy  was  in  high  feather.  As 
she  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  skiff  and  trailed  her  hand 
in  the  salt  water,  he  watched  her  with  almost  as  much 
pride  as  had  Gay  P.  Summer. 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    343 

She  climbed  rapturously  aboard,  unlocked  the  front 
room  and  filled  it  with  her  gleeful  exclamations  of  de- 
light. Then  she  popped  into  the  tiny  kitchen  and 
gazed  curiously  at  the  neat,  shining  collection  of  cook- 
ing-utensils and  the  gasoline  stove.  She  danced  out 
again,  to  circle  round  the  narrow  railed  deck.  Finally 
she  pulled  a  steamer  chair  to  the  front  porch  and 
flopped  into  it. 

"I'm  never  going  to  leave  this  place,"  she  cried.  "It's 
just  like  having  a  deserted  "island  all  to  yourself.  I 
feel  like  a  new-laid  bride.  Let's  hoist  a  white  flag." 

Cayley,  meanwhile,  put  the  provisions  on  the  kitchen 
table  and  came  out  to  be  deliciously  idle  with  her — 
but  she  could  not  rest.  She  was  up  and  about  like  a 
bee,  humming  a  gay  tune.  She  went  into  the  square, 
white  sitting-room  to  inspect  everything  that  was  there, 
commenting  on  each  object.  She  sat  in  every  chair  and 
upon  the  table  as  well.  She  tried  a  little  wheezy  melo- 
deon  with  a  snatch  of  rag-time.  She  criticized  every 
picture,  she  cleaned  the  mirror  with  her  handkerchief, 
then  went  out  to  wash  it  in  salt  water  and  hang  it  on  a 
line  to  dry.  She  read  aloud  the  titles  of  all  the 
books,  she  opened  and  shut  drawers,  and  peeped  into  a 
little  state-room  with  bunks  and  was  lost  there  for  five 
minutes.  When  she  came  out  again,  her  copper  hair 
was  braided  down  her  back  and  she  had  on  a  white 
ruffled  apron. 

"I'm  going  to  cook  dinner,"  she  announced. 

Cayley  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm.  "I  don't  believe 
you  can  do  it." 

She  insisted,  and  he  followed  her  into  the  kitchen  to 
watch  her  struggles.  She  succeeded  in  setting  the 
table  without  breaking  more  than  one  plate,  and  then 


344  THE    HEART    LINE 

she  filled  the  tea-kettle  with  fresh  water  from  the  demi- 
john. After  that  she  looked  helplessly  at  Cayley. 

"How  do  you  shell  these  tins?" 

"With  a  can-opener." 

She  tried  for  a  few  moments,  biting  her  lip  and 
pinching  her  finger  in  the  attempt.  Then  she  turned 
to  him  coaxingly. 

"You  do  it,  Blan,  please." 

He  had  it  open  in  a  minute.  She  unwrapped  the 
steak,  put  it  into  a  frying-pan,  unbuttered,  and  began 
to  struggle  with  the  stove.  After  she  had  lighted  a 
match  timidly,  she  said : 

"I'm  awfully  afraid  it'll  explode." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  to  the  table, 
where  she  sat  swinging  her  legs,  her  hands  in  her 
apron  pockets. 

"Confess  you  don't  know  a  blessed  thing  about 
housework  or  cooking!" 

"Of  course  I  don't.  What  do  you  take  me  for?  I've 
lived  in  restaurants  and  boarding-houses  all  my  life — 
how  should  I  know  ?  But  I  thought  it  was  easier  than 
it  seems  to  be.  I  suppose  you  have  to  have  a  knack 
for  it." 

"I'll  show  you."  He  took  the  apron  from  her, 
tying  it  about  his  own  waist.  With  the  grace  of  a 
chef  he  set  about  the  preparations  for  dinner.  He 
lighted  the  stove,  he  put  potatoes  in  the  oven  to  roast, 
he  heated  a  tin  of  soup,  washed  the  lettuce,  broiled  the 
steak,  cut  the  cranberry  pie  and  made  a  pot  full  of  cof- 
fee. 

They  sat  down  at  the  table  with  gusto  and  made 
short  work  of  the  refreshments.  Fancy  was  a  little 
disappointed  that  they  couldn't  drop  a  line  over  the 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    345 

side  of  the  boat  and  fry  fish  while  they  were  fresh  and 
wriggling,  but  she  ate  her  share,  nevertheless.  She 
drank  cup  after  cup  of  coffee  and  took  a  cigarette  or 
two,  sitting  in  blissful  content,  listening  to  the  cluck- 
cluck  of  water  plashing  lazily  against  the  sides  of  the 
boat.  While  they  were  there  still  lingering  at  the  table, 
the  ferry-boat  passed  them.  The  ark  careened  on  the 
swell  of  the  wake,  rising  and  falling,  till  the  water 
was  spilfed  from  the  glasses,  and  the  dishes  lurched 
this  way  and  that.  Fancy  screamed  with  delight  at  the 
motion.  For  some  minutes  the  hanging  lamp  above 
their  heads  swung  slowly  to  and  fro. 

All  that  sunny,  breezy  afternoon  she  sat  happily, 
chattering  on  the  front  platform,  watching  the  yachts 
that  passed  out  into  the  lower  bay,  the  heavily  laden 
ferry-boat  that  rocked  them  deliciously  in  its  heaving 
wake,  and  the  rowboats  full  of  Sunday  excursion- 
ists, who  hailed  them  with  slangy  banter.  She  watched 
the  little  red-tiled  cottages  at  Belvedere.  She  watched 
the  holiday  couples  walk  the  Tiburon  beach,  past  the 
wreck  of  the  Tropic  Bird,  now  transformed  into  a 
summer  home.  She  watched  the  mauve  shadow 
deepen  over  Mount  Tamalpais  and  the  gray  city  of  San 
Francisco  looming  to  the  south  in  a  pearly  haze.  She 
was  drenched  by  the  salt  air  and  burned  by  the  sun- 
shine; a  permanent  glow  came  to  her  cheeks,  her 
brown  eyes  grew  wistful.  She  talked  incessantly. 

Cayley  amused  her  all  day  with  his  jests  and  stories. 
That  he  was  too  subtle  for  her  did  not  matter.  She 
listened  as  attentively  to  his  explanations  of  the  set 
forms  of  Japanese  verse  as  she  did  to  his  mechanical 
love-making.  Cayley  was  not  of  the  impetuous,  hot- 
blooded  type — he  preferred  the  snare  to  the  arrow — his 


346  THE   HEART   LINE 

was  the  wile  of  the  serpent  that  charms  the  bird  and 
makes  it  approach,  falteringly,  step  by  step,  to  fall  into 
his  power;  but  his  system,  if  mathematically  accurate, 
was  also  artistic.  Fancy's  devotion  to  him  was  un- 
disguised— he  did  not  need  his  art.  It  was  she  who 
was  spontaneous,  frank  and  affectionate.  He  only 
added  a  few  flourishes. 

"Do  you  love  me,  Blan  ?"  she  asked,  warming  to  him 
as  the  sun  went  down. 

"Why,  of  course  I  do;  haven't  I  been  apodictically 
adoring  you?" 

She  looked  at  him,  bewildered.  "I  thought  there 
was  something  queer  about  it;  perhaps  that's  it.  But 
you  haven't  called  me  'dear'  once." 

"But  I've  called  you  'Nepenthe'  and  'Chloe'."  He 
looked  down  at  her  patronizingly. 

"  'Darling'  is  good  enough  for  me — I  guess  I  like 
the  old-fashioned  words  best,  dear,"  she  whispered 
shyly. 

He  quoted: 

"Some  to  the  fascination  of  a  name 
Surrender  judgment  hoodwinked," 

and  laughed  to  himself  at  the  appositeness  of  Cow- 
per's  lines. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  know  some  lovely  poetry,  Blan,  but 
I'm  afraid  I'm  not  poetical.  I  like  the  things  they  say 
in  songs, — things  I  can  understand.  I'd  rather  hear 
slang—" 

"'The   illegitimate   sister   of   poetry—'" 

She  looked  up  at  him  blankly.  Then  she  sighed  and 
turned  her  eyes  off  to  the  darkling  water. 

"No  one  ever  made  love  to  suit  me,  somehow — men 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT     347 

are  queer — they're  so  blind — they  seem  to  know  so  lit- 
tle about  the  things  that  mean  a  lot  to  a  woman."  She 
shivered.  "It's  getting  chilly,  isn't  it.  I'm  cold." 

"Shall  I  get  you  a  wrap?" 

She  took  his  arm  and  placed  it  about  her  shoulder, 
"That'll  do,"  she  said. 

"Fancy,  you  are  adorable — you're  absolutely  com- 
plete. You're  unique — you're  a  nonpareille  !" 

"I'd  rather  be  a  peach,"  she  confessed,  snuggling 
closer. 

"You  are,  Fancy — a  clingstone !  I'd  like  to  kiss  you 
to  death." 

"Now,  that's  the  stuff!" 

"I'm  sorry  you  don't  appreciate  my  compliments," 
he  remarked,  after  this  little  episode. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't.  I'm  sorry  I'm  not  intellectual, 
Blan,  but  I'd  rather  have  you  call  me  a  'damn  fool' 
if  you  said  it  lovingly,  than  have  you  say  pretty  things 
I  can't  understand." 

"All  right,  then,  you're  a  damn  fool!" 

She  laughed  happily.  "Thank  you,  Blan,  dear,  that 
was  nice!  I  believe  you're  improving." 

"Oh,  if  you  prefer  Anglo-Saxon,  I'll  call  you  a  piece, 
a  jade, '  baggage,  harridan,  hussy,  minx — " 

"Yes,  but  you  must  put  'dear'  at  the  end,  you  know, 
to  show  that  you're  not  in  earnest." 

"I'll  try  to  remember." 

Fancy  went  on : 

"It's  wonderful  to  be  out  here,  all  alone  with  you  on 
the  water,  cut  off  from  everything.  It  satisfies  me 
gorgeously — it's  like  the  taste  of  ice-cream  to  a  hungry 
little  kid.  I  remember  how  I  used  to  long  for  it.  I 
was  awfully  poor  and  lonely  once,  I  believe  I'm  happy 


348  THE    HEART   LINE 

now.  What  do  you  think  it  is,  Blan,  you  or  the  cof- 
fee? Don't  you  want  to  hold  my  hand?  Let's  just 
sit  here  and  forget  things — but  I  haven't  very  much 
to  forget,  have  I?  I'd  like  to  read  books  and  know 
some  of  the  things  you  do — but  it's  too  late  now — I 
guess  I'll  always  be  ign'ant" 

"Oh,  I'll  teach  you  all  the  things  you  want  to  know," 
he  said  condescendingly.  "You're  good  material  and 
you'd  learn  quickly.  I  could  make  a  wonder  out  of  you 
with  a  little  training.  I'll  give  you  lessons  if  you 
like." 

"I  accept,"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

Then  she  added: 

"I  don't  expect  you'll  love  me  very  long,  Blan,  but 
you  must  make  up  for  it  by  loving  me  as  much  as  you 
can.  That's  where  I  can  teach  you.  Men  aren't  faith- 
ful like  women  are — I'm  glad  I'm  a  woman,  Blan." 

"I'm  glad  you  are,"  he  echoed. 

The  night  fell,  and  they  began  reluctantly  to  make 
preparations  for  their  departure.  While  Cayley  was 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  packing  up  a  basket  to  be  re- 
turned, Fancy  went  into  the  little  white  state-room  to 
do  her  hair  and  put  on  her  wrap. 

As  she  came  out  she  noticed  a  little  card-tray  in 
the  corner  of  the  living-room,  and  idly  turned  the 
names  over,  one  by  one.  Of  a  sudden  her  hand  fell, 
and  her  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon  a  card  that  had 
just  come  into  sight.  It  bore  the  legend: 

MR.  FRANCIS  GRANTHOPE 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  couch  by  the  window  and 
broke  into  sobs. 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    349 

"Say,  Fancy!  It's  after  seven  o'clock,"  Cayley 
called  to  her  from  the  kitchen. 

She  stumbled  to  her  feet  and  went  out  on  deck, 
dipped  her  handkerchief  in  the  salt  water  and  bathed 
her  eyes.  Cayley  came  out  just  as  she  finished.  It 
was  too  dark,  now,  to  notice  her  expression. 

They  took  the  rowboat  which  had  been  nuzzling 
alongside  the  flank  of  the  ark  all  day,  made  for  the 
shore  and  went  aboard  the  steamer. 

It  was  crowded  with  Sunday  picnickers,  who  came 
trooping  on  in  groups,  singing,  the  girls  flushed  and 
sunburned  with  hair  distraught  and  dusty  shoes;  the 
men  in  jovial,  uncouth  disarray  in  canvas  and  in  cor- 
duroy, like  tramps  and  vagabonds,  laden  with  ferns 
and  flowers.  Hunters,  with  guns  and  dogs,  tramped 
aboard ;  fishermen,  with  rods  and  baskets ;  tired  fam- 
ilies, lagging,  whining,  came  in  weary  procession. 
Both  decks  of  the  boat  were  crowded.  A  brass  band 
struck  up  a  popular  air.  The  restaurant,  the  bar  and 
the  bootblack  stand  all  did  a  great  business. 

Cayley  and  Fancy  Gray  went  to  the  upper  deck  for  a 
last  draft  of  the  summer  breeze.  As  they  sat  there, 
talking  little,  watching  the  throng  of  uneasy  passen- 
gers, Fancy  called  his  attention  to  a  couple  sitting  op- 
posite. 

It  was  a  strangely  assorted  pair,  the  girl  and  the 
man.  She  was  about  twenty  years  of  age,  with  a 
pretty,  earnest,  freckled  face  and  a  modest  air.  She 
was  talking  happily,  with  undisguised  fondness,  to  the 
young  man  beside  her.  His  face  was  hideous,  without 
a  nose.  In  its  place  was  a  livid  scar  and  a  depression 
perforated  by  nostrils  that  made  his  appearance 
malign.  He  wore  nothing  to  conceal  the  mutilation, 


350  THE   HEART   LINE 

shocking  as  it  was.     His  manner  toward  the  girl  was 
that  of  a  lover,  devoted  -and  tender. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  awful?"  said  Fancy. 
"And  isn't  she  terribly  in  love  with  him  though!  I 
know  who  she  is ;  her  name  is  Fleurette  Heller.  She 
came  into  Granthope's  studio  once  and  I  took  a 
great  liking  to  her.  Frank  told  her  that  her  love  affair 
would  come  out  all  right,  and  she'd  be  happier  than  she 
ever  was  in  her  life  before." 

"I  don't  see  how  she  can  endure  that  object,"  said 
Cayley. 

"Don't  you  ?"  said  Fancy,  "that's  because  you  don't 
know  women.  She's  in  love  with  him.  I  understand 
it  perfectly.  I  wouldn't  care  a  bit  how  he  looked." 

She  nodded,  as  she  spoke,  to  a  man  who  passed 
just  then.  He  was  dark-skinned,  with  a  pointed  beard. 
He  gave  her  a  quick  jerk  of  the  head  and  grinned, 
showing  a  line  of  yellow  teeth,  and  his  glance  jumped 
with  the  rapidity  of  machinery  from  her  face  to  Cay- 
ley's,  and  away  again.  He  walked  on,  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back  against  a  coat  so  faded  and  shiny  as  to 
glow  purple  as  a  plum. 

Fancy's  eyes  followed  him.  "That's  Vixley,"  she 
said. 

Cayley's  look  turned  from  a  pretty  blonde  across  the 
way  and  he  became  immediately  attentive!  "Who's 
Vixley?" 

"Why,  Professor  Vixley,  the  slate-writer,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  yes — he's  a  medium,  is  he  ?    What  sort  is  he  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Wolf!  He  makes  me  sick. 
I'm  afraid  of  him,  too.  He's  out  after  Granthope  with 
a  knife,  and  I'm  afraid  he'll  do  for  him  some  day. 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  LEFT    351 

Frank  ought  never  to  have  stood  in  with  him,  but  you 
know  he  used  to  live  with  a  friend  of  this  man's  when 
he  was  little,  and  they've  got  a  hold  on  him  he  can't 
break  very  well." 

"They  know  things  about  him?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  Before  he  braced  up.  He's  square 
now,  and  he's  trying  to  shake  that  bunch.  Poor  old 
Frank!" 

Cayley  pulled  at  his  mustache.  "I  wish  I  had  no- 
ticed Vixley." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I'd  like  to  see  him,  that's  all.  He  must  be  a 
pretty  clever  fakir.  Of  course  he  isn't  straight?" 

"As  a  bow-knot,"  said  Fancy,  "but  if  he  amuses 
you,  I'll  introduce  you  to  him.  I've  got  a  pretty  good 
stand-in  with  him,  yet."  She  smiled  sadly. 

"Suppose  you  do.    I'd  like  to  hear  him  talk." 

"All  right,"  said  Fancy.  They  rose  and  walked  in 
the  medium's  direction,  encountering  him  on  the  fore- 
ward  deck.  He  was  holding  his  hat  against  the  fresh 
breeze  and  gazing  at  the  approaching  lights  of  the 
city.  The  meeting  was  somewhat  constrained  at  first. 
Vixley  seemed  to  be  embarrassed  at  Cayley's  aristo- 
cratic appearance,  and  evidently  wondered  what  his 
motive  was  in  being  introduced.  Cayley,  however,  was 
sufficiently  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  able  to  put  the 
medium  at  his  ease.  He  told  stories,  he  made  jokes, 
and  gradually  drew  Vixley  out.  The  wolf  talked  gin- 
gerly, making  sure  of  his  ground,  his  little  black  eyes 
shifting  from  one  to  the  other,  whether  he  spoke  or 
listened.  Cayley  held  him  cleverly  until  the  crowd 
began  to  descend,  making  ready  for  the  disembarka- 
tion. They  went  down  to  the  lower  deck.  Here  the 


352  THE   HEART   LINE 

crowd  had  begun  to  pack  together  into  a  close  mass, 
jostling,  joking,  singing — all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men  in  a  common  holiday  mood. 

Cayley  managed  so  that  Fancy  went  ahead,  and, 
with  some  dexterous  manoeuvering,  allowed  two  or 
three  persons  to  pass  between  himself  and  her.  Vix- 
ley  was  just  behind  him,  when  Cayley  turned  and  said 
quickly : 

"Can  you  meet  me  at  the  Hospital  Saloon  at  ten 
o'clock  to-night?" 

"What  for?"  the  Professor  demanded. 

"Important — something  about  Payson.  It  is  de- 
cidedly to  your  advantage  to  see  me." 

"I'll  be  there!"  A  light  gleamed  behind  Vixley's 
shrewd  black  eyes. 

The  two  squirmed  their  way  to  where  Fancy  was 
standing,  and  accompanied  her  off  the  boat.  At  the  en- 
trance to  the  ferry  building  the  medium  took  his  leave. 
Cayley  and  Fancy  had  dinner  together,  after  which, 
urging  an  engagement,  he  put  her  aboard  her  car 
and  walked  down  Market  Street  to  the  "Hospital." 

Vixley  was  there,  waiting  for  him,  sitting  at  a  side 
table,  regarding  an  enormous  painting  of  a  nude  over 
the  bar.  His  quick  eye  caught  Cayley  as  he  entered 
and  drew  him  on.  For  the  rest  of  the  interview  they 
did  not  leave  the  young  man's  face. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  FIRST   TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT 

"All  I  got  to  say  is  this,"  said  Madam  Spoil,  "if  you 
know  what's  best  for  yourself,  you  won't  make  no 
enemies." 

"I  scarcely  think  you  can  hurt  me  much,"  said  Grant- 
hope,  losing  interest  in  the  discussion,  as  he  saw  he 
could  make  no  way  with  her. 

"We  can't,  can't  we?  We  know  a  whole  lot  more 
about  you  than  you'd  care  to  have  told,  Frank  Grant- 
hope.  Since  I  seen  you  last,  things  have  developed  with 
Payson,  and  now  we're  in  a  position  to  say  to  you, 
look  out  for  yourself.  Payson's  stock  has  went  up 
some.  We've  got  inside  information  that's  valuable." 

"Then  you  don't  need  me,  surely." 

"We  need  you  to  keep  your  mouth  shut,  if  nothing 
else." 

"You  mean  not  to  tell  Mr.  Payson  anything?  I 
would  if  I  thought  I  could  make  him  listen." 

"Tell  him?  Lord,  you  can  tell  him  till  you're  black 
in  the  face,  and  he  wouldn't  believe  it — not  till  you  tell 
him  where  we  got  our  information.  Why,  if  he 
caught  me  at  the  keyhole  of  his  room,  he  wouldn't 
suspect  anything.  We've  got  the  goods  to  deliver  this 
time,  don't  you  fool  yourself.  Payson's  a  ten-to-one 
shot  all  right.  All  we  want  to  be  sure  of  now  is  the 
girl  you're  trying  to  marry." 

"I'm  not  trying  to  marry  her,"  said  Granthope  bit- 
terly. 

353 


354  THE   HEART   LINE 

"That's  lucky  for  you !" 

"Why?"  he  demanded  suspiciously. 

Madam  Spoil  spoke  very  slowly  and  deliberately 
without  asperity,  "Because  if  you  should  be  fool 
enough  to  try  it  on  your  own  hook  without  helping 
us  out  in  our  game,  why,  we'd  have  to  show  you  up 
to  her.  I  know  a  little  too  much  about  you,  Frank 
Granthope,  for  you  to  throw  me  down  as  easy  as  that. 
You  can't  exactly  set  yourself  up  for  a  saint,  you 
know ;  there's  the  Bennett  affair  and  one  or  two  more 
like  it,  Then,  again,  there's  Fancy  Gray  and  several 
others  like  that.  It'll  add  up  to  a  pretty  tidy  scandal, 
if  the  Payson  girl  should  happen  to  hear  about  it  all ; 
and  if  not  her,  there's  others  that  it  won't  do  you  any 
good  to  have  know." 

Granthope  shrugged  his  shoulders  nonchalantly, 
looking  calmly  at  the  medium.  Her  face  was  as  placid 
and  unwrinkled  as  his.  She  showed  not  the  slightest 
trace  of  vindictiveness,  talking  as  though  discussing 
some  impersonal  business  arrangement. 

"Then  I  am  to  understand  that  you  threaten  me 
with  blackmail?" 

"Black,  white  or  yellow,  any  color  you  like." 
She  made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  "But  I  don't 
put  it  that  way  myself;  all  I  do  say  is,  that  it's 
for  your  interest  to  leave  us  alone.  You  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  we  can  put  the  kibosh  on  your  business, 
if  we  want  to.  We've  got  a  pretty  good  gang  to  work 
with,  and  when  we  pass  the  word  round  and  hand  you 
the  double-cross,  you  won't  read  many  more  palms  at 
five  per,  not  in  this  town  you  won't." 

He  smiled.  "That's  all  a  bluff.  You  can't  expose 
me  without  giving  yourself  away  as  well." 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    355 

"What  have  we  got  to  lose?  We  could  get  the  old 
man  back  any  time  we  gave  him  a  jolly.  You  can't 
bust  up  our  business — too  many  suckers  in  town  for 
that.  Lord,  I've  been  exposed  till  I  grew  fat  on  it. 
But  we  can  break  you,  Frank  Granthope ;  we  can  bust 
your  business  and  queer  you  with  this  swell  push, 
easy,  not  to  speak  of  Clytie  Payson." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Granthope,  rising  and  taking  his 
hat,  "go  ahead  and  do  it!  We  might  just  as  well 
settle  this  thing  now.  Smash  my  business — I  don't 
care;  I  wish  you  would!  Ruin  any  social  ambition 
I  may  be  fool  enough  to  have — it'll  serve  me  right  for 
caring  for  such  nonsense.  Tell  Miss  Payson  all  you 
know — it'll  save  me  the  shame  of  telling  her  myself. 
God  knows  I  wish  she  did  know  it !  I'm  getting  sick 
of  the  whole  dirty  game." 

Madam  Spoil,  completely  taken  aback  by  his  unex- 
pected change  of  base,  stood  with  a  sneer  on  her  face, 
watching  him.  "You  ought  to  go  on  the  stage,  Frank 
Granthope — you  almost  fooled  me  for  a  minute,"  she 
said  with  an  ironic  smile.  "I  fully  expected  you  to  say 
you  had  joined  the  Salvation  Army  next,  and  had  come 
around  here  to  save  me  from  hell.  So  you've  got 
religion,  have  you?  You'd  look  well  in  a  white  neck- 
tie, you  would!  And  your  inside  pocket  full  of  mash 
notes !" 

"Well,"  he  said,  walking  to  the  door,  "you've  had 
your  say  and  I've  had  mine.  You  can  believe  what  you 
please,  but  when  you  do  think  it  over,  you  may  re- 
call the  fact  that  I  usually  mean  what  I  say." 

This  was  the  end  of  the  interview.  Madam  Spoil, 
at  Vixley's  instigation,  had  sent  for  Granthope  and 
had  "put  on  the  screws."  Granthope  walked  back  to 


356  THE   HEART   LINE 

his  rooms  in  a  brown  study.    He  was  at  bay  now,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  escape  for  him. 

The  red-headed  office  boy  was  whistling  and  whit- 
tling a  pencil  lazily  at  Fancy's  desk  as  the  palmist  en- 
tered. There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room. 

"Has  anybody  been  here,  Jim?"  Granthope  asked. 

Jim  looked  up  carelessly  and  replied,  "Dere  was  a 
lady  what  blew  in  about  a  half  an  hour  ago  and  she 
told  me  she  might  float  back." 

"Who  was  she?" 

"She  wouldn't  leave  no  name,  but  she  was  a  kissa- 
maroot  from  Peachville  Center  all  right.  She  looked 
like  she  was  just  graduated  from  a  French  laundry. 
She  left  dese  gloves  here." 

He  handed  over  a  pair  of  long,  immaculately  white 
gloves,  which  were  lying  on  a  chair.  Granthope 
looked  at  them  carefully,  blew  one  out  till  it  took  the 
form  of  a  hand  and  then  inspected  the  wrinkles. 

"Oh,"  he  said.  "Tell  Miss  Payson  to  come  into  my 
studio  when  she  comes  back." 

"Say,  Mr.  Granthope,  who's  Miss  Gray?  De  lady 
wanted  to  know  where  was  Miss  Gray,  and  I  told 
her  she  could  search  me,  for  I  wasn't  on.  She  looked 
like  she  took  me  for  a  shine  to  be  holdin'  down  de  desk 
here;  dat's  right." 

Granthope  walked  quickly  into  his  studio  without 
answering. 

He  seated  himself  thoughtfully  and  looked  about 
him,  still  holding  the  white  glove  caressingly  in  his 
hand.  His  eye  traveled  from  the  electric-lighted  table, 
round  the  black  velvet  arras,  to  the  panel  where  the 
signs  of  the  zodiac  were  embroidered  in  gold ;  then 
his  eyes  closed.  He  sat  silent  for  ten  minutes  or  so, 


His  pose  was  eloquent 


357 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    357 

then  he  drew  his  hand  through  his  heavy  black  hair 
and  across  his  brow.  His  eyes  opened ;  he  arose ;  a 
faint  whimsical  smile  shone  on  his  face. 

Then,  still  smiling,  he  strode  deliberately  across  the 
room,  grasped  the  black  velvet  hanging  and  gave  it  a 
violent  tug,  wrenching  it  from  the  cornice.  It  fell 
in  a  soft,  dark  mass  upon  the  floor.  He  seized  the  next 
breadth  of  drapery,  and  the  next,  tearing  them  from 
the  wall.  So  he  went  calmly  round  the  room  in  his 
work  of  destruction,  disclosing  a  widening  space  of 
horribly-patterned  wall-paper — pink  and  yellow  roses 
writhing  up  a  violently  blue  blackground.  On  the 
last  side  of  the  room  two  windows  appeared,  the  glass 
almost  opaque  with  dust. 

He  threw  up  a  sash;  a  shaft  of  sunshine  shot  in, 
and,  falling  upon  the  velvet  waves  upon  the  floor, 
changed  them  to  dull  purple.  In  that  ray  a  universe  of 
tiny  motes  danced  radiantly.  A  current  of  air  set 
them  in  motion  and  swept  them  from  the  room  through 
the  window  into  the  world  outside. 

And,  as  he  stood  there,  his  face  like  that  of  a  child 
who  had  released  a  toy  balloon,  watching  that  beam  of 
yellow  light,  Clytie  Payson  opened  the  door  of  the 
studio  and  looked  in  at  him.  She  appeared  suddenly, 
like  a  picture  thrown  vividly  upon  a  screen.  She  saw 
Granthope  before  he  saw  her,  and,  for  a  moment,  she 
stood  gazing.  His  pose  was  eloquent;  he  was,  in  his 
setting,  almost  symbolistic — she  needed  no  explana- 
tion of  what  had  happened.  Then,  it  was  as  if  some 
tense  cord  snapped  in  her  mind,  and  she  threw  herself 
forward,  no  longer  the  dreamer,  but  the  actor,  giving 
free  rein  to  her  emotion. 

He  turned  and  caught  sight  of  her.    Her  hands  were 


358  THE   HEART  LINE 

outstretched,  her  eyes  were  burning  with  a  new  fire, 
as  if  her  smoldering  had  burst  into  flame. 

"Oh !    You  have  done  it !    I  knew  you  would !" 

He  gave  her  his  two  hands  in  hers,  nodding  his 
head  slowly;  his  smile  was  that  of  one  who  viewed 
himself  impersonally,  looking  on  at  his  own  actions. 
He  did  not  speak.  A  quaint  humor  struggled  in  his 
mind  with  the  intensity  of  the  situation.  Something 
in  him,  also,  had  snapped,  and  he  was  self-conscious  in 
his  new  role. 

She  clutched  his  hands  excitedly,  and  lifted  her  eyes 
up  to  his,  with  a  new,  unabashed  fondness  burning  in 
them.  She  had  thrown  away  all  her  reserves. 

"It's  magnificent!"  she  said.  "Oh,  how  I  have 
longed  for  this!  How  I  have  waited  for  it!  And 
now,  how  I  admire — and  love  you  for  it !" 

Her  face  was  so  near  his  that,  like  an  electric  spark, 
the  flash  of  eagerness  darted  from  one  to  the  other. 
He  felt  the  shock  of  emotion  tingling  his  blood.  It 
swept  his  mind  from  control  and  flooded  his  will  with 
an  irresistible  desire  for  her.  He  saw  that  she  was 
ready  for  him,  willing  to  be  won.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  softly,  but  gripping  her  almost 
savagely  in  his  embrace. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  love  me, 
really?  I  can't  believe  it!  It's  too  much  for  me. 
Tell  me!" 

She  released  herself  gently,  still  looking  up  at  him 
and  smiling  frankly.  "Didn't  you  know?  You,  who 
know  so  much  of  women?  I  thought  you  understood 
me  as  I  have  understood  you." 

He  still  held  her,  as  if  he  feared  he  could  never  get 
her  again  so  close,  and  she  went  on : 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    359 

"Oh,  I  would  never  have  told  you,  if  you  had  gone 
on  as  you  were  going,  though  I  should  always  have 
loved  you — I  could  never  have  helped  that.  But  now, 
after  this  crisis,  this  victory — I  know  what  it  all  means 
— I  must  tell  you !  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  It  is  true,  and 
I  am  not  ashamed  to  be  the  first  to  speak.  Yes,  I  love 
you !" 

The  reaction  came,  his  sight  grew  dark  at  the 
thought  of  his  unworthiness,  and  he  freed  her,  putting 
her  away  slowly.  Then,  as  if  to  resist  any  temptation, 
he  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

"I  can't  stand  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  isn't  fair  for 
me  to  let  you  say  that.  Don't  say  it  yet.  Wait  till 
I  have  told  you  what  I  am.  Then  you  will  despise 
me,  and  hate  me/' 

"Never!"  she  said  firmly.  "Do  you  think  I  don't 
know  you  ?  I  am  sure.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  sur- 
prise me.  Whatever  you  have  been  or  done,  it  will 
make  no  difference — for  better  or  for  worse.  Of 
course,  I  can't  know  all  the  circumstances  of  your  life, 
but  I  feel  that  I  am  sure  of  your  motives — I  may  know 
an  ideal  *y°u/  but,  if  that  is  not  what  you  are  now,  it  is 
what  you  are  to  be.  It  is  that  'you'  that  I  love — all 
the  rest  is  dead,  I  hope."  She  swept  her  eyes  about 
the  barren  room,  and  her  hand  went  out  in  comprehen- 
sive gesture.  "Surely  all  this  can't  mean  anything  less 
than  that?  You  are  not  one  for  compromise  or  half- 
measures.  You  have  burned  your  bridges,  haven't 
you  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "I  don't  intend  to  do  things  half- 
way. But  it's  not  a  pretty  story  I  have  to  tell.  It's 
selfish,  sordid,  vulgar." 

"Oh,  I  know  something  of  it,  already.    Mr.  Cayley 


360  THE   HEART   LINE 

has  told  me  about  that  Bennett  affair,  for  he  sus- 
pected, somehow,  that  you  were  implicated  in  it.  And 
I  have  guessed  more.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  But 
you  had  better  tell  me  as  much  as  you  can — not  for 
my  sake,  but  for  your  own.  Then  it  will  all  be  over, 
and  we  can  begin  fresh." 

She  dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  couch  and  leaned  lan- 
guidly against  the  cushions,  clasping  her  hands  in  her 
lap.  He  scarcely  dared  look  at  her,  and  walked  nerv- 
ously up  and  down  the  room,  dreading  the  inevitable 
ordeal.  For  a  while  he  did  not  speak,  then  he  turned 
swiftly  to  say : 

"Positively,  I  don't  know  where  to  begin !" 

"You  would  better  begin  at  the  beginning,  then — 
with  Madam  Grant." 

"You  suspected  that,  then?" 

"It  was  that  suspicion  that  has  drawn  me  to  you.  I 
should  never  have  begun  to  love  you  without  that, 
perhaps.  It  seemed  to  justify  my  growing  feeling  for 
you.  Haven't  I  hinted  at  that  often  enough  ?  I  mean 
that  in  some  way  we  had  been  connected  before.  You 
were  the  little  boy  who  disappeared  when  she  died, 
weren't  you?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"But  I  can't  make  it  out!  There  was  never  any 
child  there  when  I  went,  though  I  was  conscious  of 
some  secret  presence — some  one  invisible." 

"I  was  locked  in  the  closet — I  watched  you  through 
a  crack  in  the  door." 

"Oh !"  Her  eyes  widened  with  a  full  direct  stare ; 
her  breath  came  quickly  at  the  revelation.  He  watched 
her,  as  her  expression  was  transmuted  from  bewilder- 
ment to  the  beginning  of  an  agonized  disillusion.  He 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    361 

could  not  bear  it,  as  he  saw  that  her  mind  was  has- 
tening to  the  explanation,  and  he  forestalled  her  next 
question  by  his  ruthless  confession. 

"Of  course,  that's  the  way  I  was  able  to  give  you  that 
very  wonderful  clairvoyant  reading — the  picture  of  you 
in  Madam  Grant's  room." 

She  took  the  blow  bravely,  but  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  not  been  quite  ready  for  it.  "Then  you  are 
really  not  clairvoyant  at  all?  You  were  simply  im- 
posing on  my  credulity?  I  want  to  know  the  exact 
truth,  so  that  we  can  straighten  matters  out."  She 
spoke  slowly,  hesitatingly. 

"I  told  you  it  was  a  ghastly  story — this  is  the  least 
of  it,"  he  said,  wincing. 

The  smile  fluttered  back  to  her  quivering  lips,  and 
with  a  quick  impulse  she  rose,  went  to  him  again  and 
clasped  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  making  it  easy  for  you !"  she  cried. 
"Forgive  me,  please.  I  can  bear  anything  you  say — 
be  sure  of  that,  won't  you  ?  Come  here !" 

She  drew  him  down  to  the  couch  beside  her,  still 
keeping  his  hand  in  hers.  "This  is  better,"  she  said 
softly.  "Don't  think  of  me  as  an  inquisitor,  but  as  a 
friend.  What  you  have  been  can  not  matter  any 
longer.  But  let  us  have  no  more  deceit  or  reserve 
between  us.  You  see,  I  don't  quite  understand  yet 
about  that  day.  How  did  you  know  who  I  was?1 
How  did  you  get  my  name?" 

He  summoned  his  courage  as  for  an  operation  des- 
perately necessary,  and  looked  her  straight  in  the  eye. 

"That  was  a  trick.    I  read  'Clytie'  inside  your  ring." 

She  took  it  without  flinching.  "But  my  last  name 
—that  wasn't  there !" 


362  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Oh,  that  was  inspiration;  I  can't  explain  it.  You 
see,  I  had  happened  to  hear  the  name  'Pay son'  that 
morning,  and  it  recalled  the  fact  that  I  had  seen  it  be- 
fore upon  a  picture  in  Madam  Grant's  bedroom.  Your 
father's  name,  'Oliver  Payson/  it  was." 

"In  Madam  Grant's  room?  How  strange!  I  don't 
understand  that." 

"Nor  I,  either.  Yet  you  say  he  knew  her?"  queried 
Granthope. 

"Only  slightly,  so  he  gave  me  to  understand,  at 
least — still,  that  may  not  be  true.  He  may  have  his 
reasons  for  not  telling  more."  She  turned  to  him 
with  a  strange,  deliberate,  questing  expression,  and 
said,  "Who  are  you,  anyway?"  Then,  "Was  Madam 
Grant  your  mother?" 

"I  don't  know.  I've  often  suspected  that  it  might 
be  so,  but  somehow  I  don't  quite  believe  -it.  I  don't, 
at  least,  feel  it." 

"Why  did  you  run  away?" 

"Just  before  she  died  she  asked  me  to  take  some 
money  she  had  and  to  keep  it  safe.  I  hid  it  and  ran 
away  because  I  was  afraid  that  they'd  find  it  and  take 
it  away  from  me.  I  went  to  Stockton  and  carried 
the  package  to  a  bank,  but  they  frightened  me  with 
their  questions  and  I  ran  away  without  any  explana- 
tions. Of  course  it's  lost,  and  it  was,  as  I  remember  it, 
a  big  sum,  some  thousands.  I  could  never  prove  that 
I  left  it  there,  for  my  name  wasn't  on  the  package  of 
bills.  I  had  written  some  false  name — I  forget  what. 
I  never  let  any  one  know  that  I  had  lived  with 
Madam  Grant,  after  that,  for  fear  that  I  should  be 
accused  of  having  stolen  the  money.  My  story  would 
never  have  been  believed,  of  course." 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    363 

"I  see."  Clyde's  eyes  half  closed  in  thought.  "I'm 
sure  it  was  meant  for  you,  Francis." 

The  sound  of  his  name  stirred  him  and  his  hand 
tightened  on  hers. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  I've  always  thought  that  she 
intended  it  for  some  of  her  kin.  It  has  been 
impossible  for  me  to  trace  any  of  her  family,  though. 
All  I  know  about  her  is  that  she  was  at  Vassar  Col- 
lege, but  I  can't  possibly  identify  her,  because  Grant 
was  undoubtedly  a  name  she  assumed  here." 

"We  must  try  to  see  what  we  can  do,  you  and  I. 
Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  help  you,  somehow.  What 
happened  after  that?" 

"I  worked  at  odd  jobs  in  the  country  for  a  number 
of  years,  then  came  back  to  San  Francisco.  There  I 
did  anything  I  could  get  to  do  till  I  met  Madam  Spoil. 
She  was  a  medium,  and  is  yet.  I  lived  with  her  sev- 
eral years." 

As  he  had  torn  down  the  draperies  of  that  dark, 
mysterious  room,  he  went  on,  now,  to  tear  down  the 
curtain  of  shams  and  hypocrisies  that  had  hidden  his 
true  self  from  her  and  from  her  kind. 

"That  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  education  in 
trickery.  I  was  surrounded  by  charlatans  and  impos- 
tors, I  was  taught  that  the  public  was  gullible  and  that 
it  liked  to  be  fooled — that  it  would  be  fooled,  whether 
we  did  it  or  not;  and  that  we  might  benefit  by  its 
credulity  as  well  as  any  one  else.  There  was  sophistry- 
enough,  God  knows,  in  their  miserable  philosophy,  but 
I  was  young  and  was  for  a  while  taken  in  by  it.  I 
had  no  other  teachers ;  I  had  only  the  example  of  the 
colony  of  fakirs  about  me.  I  saw  our  victims  com- 
forted and  encouraged  by  the  mental  bread-pills  we  fed 


364  THE   HEART   LINE 

them.  So  we  played  on  their  weakness  and  vanity 
without  scruple.  I  learned  rapidly.  I  was  cleverer 
than  my  teachers;  I  went  far  ahead  of  them.  I  in- 
vented new  tricks  and  methods.  But  it  was  too  easy. 
There  was  scarcely  any  need  of  subtlety  or  finesse. 
The  most  primitive  methods  sufficed.  You  have  no 
idea  how  easily  seemingly  intelligent  persons  can  be 
led  once  they  are  past  the  first  turning.  That  was 
finally  why  I  got  out  of  it  and  went  into  palmistry. 
That  had,  at  least,  a  basis  of  science,  and  a  dignified 
history." 

He  arose  again  and  walked  to  the  open  window. 
His  self-consciousness  was  a  little  relieved  by  his  in- 
terest in  the  analysis.  He  looked  out,  and  turned  back 
to  her  with  a  grim  smile. 

"It's  in  the  air,  here — the  gambling  instinct  is 
paramount!"  he  said.  "Almost  everybody  gambles  in 
San  Francisco.  You  know  that  well  enough.  You 
can  almost  hear  the  rattle  of  the  slot-machines  on  the 
cigar-stand  at  the  corner,  down  there.  It's  that  way 
all  over  town.  The  gold-fever  has  never  died  out. 
Every  one  speculates  or  plays  the  races  or  bets  on  ball 
games  or  on  the  prize-fights,  or  plays  faro  or  poker  or 
bridge — or,  at  least,  makes  love.  They're  all  super- 
stitious, all  credulous,  all  willing  to  take  risks  and 
chances,  and  so  the  mediums  thrive.  Tips  are  sought 
for  and  paid  for.  Every  one  wants  to  get  rich  quickly 
and  not  always  scrupulously.  It's  not  a  city  of  healthy 
growth ;  it's  a  town  of  surprises,  of  magic  and  mad- 
ness and  rank  enthusiasms.  We  pretended  to  show 
them  the  short  cuts  to  success,  that's  all.  You  know, 
perhaps,  how  the  money-getting  ability  can  eclipse 
all  other  faculties,  and  you  won't  be  surprised  when  I 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT     365 

tell  you  that  we  made  large  sums  from  men  of  wealth 
and  prominence — they  were  the  easiest  of  the  lot, 
usually." 

She  brought  him  back  to  his  story.  "Of  course  I 
understood  from  what  I  heard,  that  you  had  been  an 
accomplice  of  these  mediums.  I  don't  think  you  need 
to  go  into  that." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  all !  It  will  sicken  you  to  have 
me  go  into  the  actual  details,  but  I  want  you  to  know 
the  worst.  I  think  I  must  tell  you,  lest  others  may. 
One  picture  will  be  enough  to  make  you  see  how  vulgar 
and  despicable  I  had  become  in  that  epoch.  You'd 
never  get  to  the  sordidness  of  it  unless  I  told  you  in 
so  many  words.  Do  you  think  you  can  stand  it  ?  You 
may  not  want  ever  to  know  me  again.  God !  I  don't 
know  whether  I  can  tell  you  or  not!  It's  terrible  to 
have  to  sully  you  with  the  description  of  it!" 

For  a  moment  she  faltered,  gazing  at  him,  trembling. 
Her  eyes  sought  his  and  left  them,  often,  as  she  spoke. 
"You  don't  mean — I've  heard  that  some  of  these  me- 
diums— the  vilest  of  them — don't  hesitate  to — take 
advantage  of  the  sensual  weakness  of  their  patrons — 
that  they — Oh,  don't  tell  me  that  you  ever  had  any 
part  in  that!"  She  covered  her  face. 

He  walked  over  to  her  and  pulled  her  hands  away, 
looking  down  into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  think  I  would 
ever  have  kissed  you  if  I  had?"  he  said.  "No,  there 
were  depths  I  didn't  fall  to,  after  all.  Oh,  I've  had  my 
way  with  women  often  enough ;  but  not  that  way." 

She  threw  off  her  fears  with  a  gesture  of  relief, 
and  her  mood  changed.  "I  believe  you.  But  don't 
tell  me  any  more,  please.  I  think  I  know,  in  a  way, 
just  about  what  you  were  capable  of,  and  some  things 


366  THE    HEART    LINE 

I  couldn't  bear  to  think  about.  But  my  reason  has  al- 
ways fought  against  my  intuition  whenever  I  suspected 
you  of  any  real  dishonor.  Thank  Heaven  I  shall  never 
have  to  do  so  again!  I  think  I  was  wise  enough  to 
see  how,  in  all  this,  you  had  the  inclinations  without 
the  opportunities  for  better  things.  You  were  a  vic- 
tim of  your  environment.  Spare  me  any  more.  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  abase  yourself  so.  I  am  so  sure 
you  have  outlived  all  this.  It's  all  over.  I  have  told 
you  that  I  love  you.  I  shall  always  love  you !" 

He  yearned  for  her — for  the  peace  and  support  that 
she  could  give  him  at  this  crisis,  but  his  pride  was  too 
hot,  yet,  for  him  to  accept  it ;  he  had  not  finished  his 
confession.  She  was  still  on  a  pedestal — he  admired 
and  respected  her,  but  she  was  above  his  reach.  He 
could  not  quite  believe  that  hint  in  her  eyes,  for  her 
halo  blinded  him.  She  was  still  princess,  seeress,  god- 
dess— not  yet  a  woman  he  could  take  fearlessly  to  his 
arms.  His  hesitation  at  her  advances,  therefore,  was 
reluctant,  almost  coy.  He  did  not  wish  to  take  her 
from  her  niche ;  he  must  first  receive  absolution.  Af- 
ter that — he  dared  not  think.  She  had  allured  him  in 
the  first  stages  of  his  acquaintance,  she  still  allured 
him;  but  her  spiritual  attributes  dominated  him.  "I 
think  I  am  another  man,  now,"  he  said,  "but  my  re- 
pentance is  scarcely  an  hour  old.  It  is  too  young;  it 
has  not  yet  proved  itself.  It's  not  fair  for  me  to  ac- 
cept all  you  can  give  for  the  little  I  can  return.  I 
must  meet  you  as  an  equal." 

She  looked  at  him  calmly.  "It  is  more  than  a  few 
hours  old,"  she  said.  "Do  you  think  I  don't  know? 
What  I  first  saw  in  you  I  have  watched  grow  ever 
since.  I  told  you  all  I  could ;  it  was  not  for  me  to  help 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    367 

you  more.  It  was  for  you  to  help  yourself — to  de- 
velop from  within.  I  think  you  were  all  ready  for 
me,  and  I  came  at  the  psychological  moment."  She 
looked  around  the  room  from  which  the  sunlight  had 
now  retreated,  leaving  it  shadowy  and  dim.  The  hang- 
ings of  black  velvet  were  scattered  about  the  floor,  the 
little  table  and  its  two  chairs  were  like  a  group  of 
skeletons,  empty,  satiric,  suggestive  of  past  vanities. 
"  'What  is  to  come  is  real ;  it  was  a  dream  that 
passed/  "  she  quoted. 

He  found  a  new  courage  and  a  new  hope.  It  shone 
in  his  eyes,  it  tingled  in  his  body;  something  of  his 
old  audacity  returned.  He  stood  dark  and  strong  be- 
fore her. 

"Oh,  you  have  helped,  indeed!"  he  said.  "I  think 
this  would  never  have  come  alone,  for  I  was  sunk  in 
an  apathy — and  yet,  I'm  not  sure.  The  old  life  was 
no  longer  possible.  I  confess  that  I  was  in  a  trap, 
threatened  with  exposure — I  feared  your  discovery  of 
what  I  had  been — I  smarted  under  the  shame  of  your 
disapproval — but  it  was  not  that  that  influenced  me. 
It  was  like  a  chemical  reaction,  as  all  human  inter- 
course is;  you  precipitated  all  this  deceit  and  hypoc- 
risy at  one  stroke  and  left  my  mind  clear." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  feel  it  that  way,"  Clytie  said.  "It 
brings  us  together,  doesn't  it?  It  lessens  the  debt  you 
would  owe  me."  Her  eyelids  crinkled  in  a  delicious 
expression  of  humor,  as  she  added,  "And  it  makes  this 
place  seem  a  little  less  like  a  Sunday-school  room !" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  many  a  man  has  refused  to  reform 
for  fear  of  being  considered  a  prig !"  he  laughed.  "But 
I  haven't  swept  out  all  the  corners  yet.  I  must  finish 
cleaning  house  before  I  invite  you  in." 


368  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Why  should  we  talk  about  it  any  more  ?" 

"But  it  isn't  all  over!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  haven't 
told  everything.  .It's  all  over,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned— I  shall  not  go  back — but  now  you  are  involved 
in  it.  Could  anything  drag  me  lower  than  that?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"Only  that,  because  of  my  fault  in  not  warning 
you  before,  your  father  has  already  become  the  latest 
dupe  for  this  gang  of  fakirs.  I'm  afraid  he's  in  their 
power.  Hasn't  he  told  you  anything  about  it?" 

"A  little.    What  is  there  to  fear  from  them?" 

"Of  course,  it's  only  his  money  they're  after.  They 
have  got  hold  of  considerable  information  about  him — 
I  don't  know  just  how  or  what — and  they  have  suc- 
ceeded in  hoodwinking  him  into  a  belief  that  they 
have  supernatural  powers.  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use  for 
me  to  attempt  to  expose  them.  He'd  never  believe 
anything  I  could  say." 

"No,  that's  useless.  He  has  taken  a  violent  preju- 
dice against  you,  for  some  reason." 

"Oh,  the  reason  is  easy  to  find.  I've  made  enemies 
of  Madam  Spoil  and  Vixley,  and  they  have  probably 
done  their  best  to  hurt  my  reputation.  They  made 
me  a  proposition  to  join  them;  in  fact,  their  scheme 
was  for  me  to  work  you  for  information — make  love 
to  you,  in  order  to  help  them  rob  your  father." 

Clytie  looked  at  him  trustfully.  "You  can  never 
convince  me  that  that  was  the  reason  why  you  were 
attracted  to  me,  for  I  shall  not  believe  you!"  She 
patted  his  hand  affectionately,  as  he  sat  at  her  feet. 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know — I  wouldn't  be 
sure  it  wasn't." 

"Ah,  I  know  you  better!"     She  grew  blithe,  and  a 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    369 

mischievous  smile  appeared  on  her  lips.  Her  eyes 
twinkled  as  she  said  archly:  "Perhaps  I  may  say 
that  I  know  myself  better,  too.  I'm  vainer  than  you 
seem  to  think,  and  you're  not  at  all  complimentary. 
Don't  you  think — don't  you  think  that — perhaps — I 
myself  had  something  to  do  with  your  attentions  to 
me  ?"  She  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  looked  at  him 
with  mock  coquetry. 

His  eyes  feasted  upon  her  beauty.  "I  won't  be 
banal  enough  to  say  that  you  are  different  from  every 
woman  I  have  ever  known,  or  that  you're  the  only 
woman  I  ever  loved,  though  both  of  those  things 
are  true  enough.  If  I  had  ever  loved  any  other 
woman,  probably  I  should  feel  just  the  same  about 
you  as  I  do  now.  But  no  woman  has  ever  stirred  me 
mentally  before.  You  have  given  me  myself — nobody 
else  could  ever  have  done  that.  I  have  nothing  to 
give  you  in  return — nothing  but  twenty-odd  mistaken, 
misspent  years." 

"And  how  many  more  to  be  wonderfully  filled,  I 
wonder?  You're  only  a  child,  and  I  must  teach 
you.  Can  you  trust  me?  Remember  that  I  knew  you 
when  you  were  a  little  boy." 

"I  wonder  what  will  become  of  me?  I  suppose  I 
shall  get  on  somehow.  It  doesn't  interest  me  much 
yet,  but  I  suppose  it  will  have  to  be  considered.  I'll 
fight  it  out  alone."  He  looked  up  suddenly.  "When 
do  you  go  East?" 

She  smiled.  "I  came  down  here  to  tell  you  that  I 
should  leave  on  Saturday." 

He  jumped  up  with  a  bitter  look  and  walked  to 
the  window. 

She  looked  over  to  him  with  her  eyes  half  shut  and 


370  THE    HEART    LINE 

a  delectable  expression  upon  her  lips.  "But  I've 
decided  not  to  go — at  all!" 

She  almost  drawled  it. 

In  an  instant  he  was  back  at  her  side,  borne  on 
a  flood  of  happiness.  For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her 
hard.  His  eyes  went  from  feature  to  feature,  to  her 
hands,  her  hair  in  silent  approval.  Then  he  exclaimed 
decidedly : 

"Oh,  you  can't  link  yourself  with  me  in  any  way. 
I'm  a  social  outcast — why,  now,  I  haven't  even  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  a  picturesque  adventurer !  You  will 
compromise  yourself  fearfully — you'll  be  ostracized — 
oh,  it's  impossible — I  can't  permit  it!" 

"You  need  not  fear  for  yourself — or  for  me,"  she 
said,  clasping  his  hand.  "If  I  love  you,  what  do  I 
care — what  should  you  care  ?  I  have  come  to  you  like 
Porphyria — but  I  am  no  Porphyria — you'll  have  no 
need  to  strangle  me  in  my  hair — my  'darling  one  wish' 
will  be  easier  found  than  that!" 

There  was  something  in  the  unrestrained  fondness 
of  her  look,  now,  that  made  him  jump  to  a  place  be- 
side her.  What  might  have  followed  was  interrupted 
by  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice  in  the  anteroom,  de- 
manding Mr.  Granthope.  Clytie  sprang  up,  her  cheeks 
burning.  Granthope  turned  coolly  to  the  door,  with 
his  eyebrows  lifted.  Mr.  Payson  appeared  at  the  en- 
trance. He  was  scowling  under  his  bushy  eyebrows, 
the  muscles  of  his  face  were  twitching.  A  cane  was 
firmly  clenched  in  his  right  hand.  He  bent  a  harsh 
look  at  his  daughter. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Clytie  ?"  he  demanded. 

She  had  recovered  on  the  instant  and  faced  him 
splendidly,  in  neither  defiance  nor  supplication.  "It 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    371 

means,"  she  said  in  her  low,  steady  voice,  "that  as  you 
won't  permit  me  to  receive  Mr.  Granthope  in  your 
house,  I  must  see  him  in  his." 

"Leave  this  room  instantly!"  he  thundered  bombas- 
tically. 

"Please  don't  make  a  scene,  father.  I'm  quite  old 
enough  to  take  care  of  myself,  and  to  judge  for 
myself.  You  needn't  humiliate  me." 

"Humiliate  you !  If  you're  not  humiliated  at  being 
found  here  with  a  cheap  impostor,  I  don't  think  I  can 
shame  you!  This  man  is  a  rank  scoundrel  and  a 
cheat — I  won't  have  you  compromise  yourself  with 
such  a  mountebank!" 

Granthope  stood  watching  her  unruffled,  fearless 
pose,  confident  in  her  power  to  control  the  situation. 

"Mr.  Granthope  is  my  friend,  father.  Don't  say 
anything  that  you  may  regret.  I  don't  intend  to  leave 
you  alone  with  him  till  you  are  master  of  yourself,  and 
can  say  what  you  have  come  to  say  without  anger.  He 
has  respected  your  request  not  to  call  on  me  at  the 
house,  and  I  came  here  of  my  own  accord,  without 
his  invitation.  And  he  has  always  treated  me  as  a 
gentleman  should." 

"A  gentleman !"  Mr.  Payson  sneered.  "I  know  what 
he  is — he's  a  damned  trickster.  I've  always  suspected 
it,  but  since  I  kicked  him  out  of  my  house  I've  had 
proof  of  it.  I  know  his  record" — he  turned  to  Grant- 
hope — "from  persons  who  know  you  well,  sir !" 

"I  suppose  you  mean  Vixley  or  Madam  Spoil." 

"You  can't  deny  that  they  know  you  pretty  well  ?" 

"Your  daughter  knows  more,  I  think.  I  have  just 
taken  the  liberty  of  informing  her  as  to  just  how  much 
of  a  scoundrel  I  am." 


THE    HEART    LINE 


"And  you  have  the  impertinence  to  consider  your- 
self her  social  equal  !" 

"I  think  Miss  Payson's  position  is  sufficiently  assured 
for  her  to  be  in  no  danger." 

"Well,  yours  certainly  is  not.  I've  heard  of  your 
lady-killing.  I  suppose  you  want  to  add  my  daugh- 
ter's scalp  to  your  belt.  Haven't  you  women  enough 
running  after  you  yet?  So  you  wheedled  her  with  a 
mock-confession  —  tried  the  cry-baby  on  her.  Well,  iv 
won't  work  with  me.  I'll  tell  her  all  about  you,  don't 
be  afraid  !" 

Clytie  went  to  him  and  laid  a  hand  gently  upon 
his  arm.  "Father,  we'll  go,  now,  please.  I  can't 
bear  this.  You  need  only  to  look  about  you  to 
see  that,  whatever  Mr.  Granthope  has  been,  he  is  no 
longer  a  palmist.  You  see  this  room  is  already  dis- 
mantled —  if  you'll  only  listen,  I'll  explain  everything." 

"It  does  look  rather  theatrical  here."  Mr.  Payson 
looked  at  the  piles  of  velvet  on  the  floor,  then 
turned  again  to  the  young  man.  "It  seems  that  you 
have  the  audacity  to  want  to  marry  my  daughter.  No 
doubt  this  little  scene  is  a  part  of  the  game.  It's  very 
pretty,  very  effective.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  this  sen- 
sational tomfoolery  -won't  be  of  any  use.  You  are  a 
charlatan,  sir!  You've  always  been  one,  and  you 
always  will  be." 

"Mr.  Payson,"  Granthope  said,  with  no  trace  of  an- 
ger, "I  can't  deny  that  something  of  what  you  say  is 
true,  but  your  daughter  knows  that  much  already,  and 
she  has  it  from  a  better  authority  than  yours.  I  can't 
blame  you  for  your  feeling  in  this  matter;  it's  quite 
natural,  for  you  don't  know  me.  But  I  hope  in  time 
to  induce  you  to  believe  in  me.  I  wish  you  would  let 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    373 

me  begin  by  doing  what  I  should  have  done  when  I 
first  met  your  daughter — warn  you  that  you  are  in 
the  hands  of  a  dangerous  set  of  swindlers  who  are  de- 
ceiving you  systematically.  I  can  tell  you  a  good  deal 
that  it  will  be  greatly  to  your  advantage  to  know  about 
them." 

The  old  man  broke  into  ironic  laughter.  "That's 
just  what  they  told  me  you'd  say,"  he  sneered.  "They 
warned  me  that  you'd  try  to  libel  them  and  accuse 
them  of  all  sorts  of  impossible  tricks.  Set  a  thief  to 
catch  a  thief,  eh?  No,  that  won't  work,  Mr.  Grant- 
hope.  I  happen  to  know  too  much  for  that !" 

"Won't  you  listen  to  what  he  has  to  say,  father  ?  It 
can  do  no  harm.  What  do  you  know  about  those  per- 
sons, after  all?  They  are  undoubtedly  trying  to  de- 
ceive you,"  Clytie  said  earnestly. 

Granthope  added:  "I  can  tell  you  of  tricks  they 
habitually  practise." 

"What's  that  to  me?  Haven't  I  got  eyes?  Haven't 
I  common  sense?  Can  you  tell  me  how  they 
find  out  things  about  my  own  life  that  no  one  living 
knows  but  me?" 

"I  can  tell  you  how  it  was  done  in  other  cases — " 

"Aha,  I  thought  so — you  can  tell  me,  for  instance, 
how  to  crawl  through  a  trap  in  the  mopboard,  can't 
you  ?  I'd  rather  hear  how  you  impose  on  silly  women, 
if  you're  going  in  for  your  confessions.  What  do  you 
expect  me  to  believe?  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my 
own  ability  to  investigate.  I  haven't  lived  for  fifty 
years  in  the  West  to  be  imposed  upon  by  flimflam. 
I'm  not  suffering  from  senile  decay  quite  yet !" 

He  took  Clytie  to  the  door;  there  he  paused  dra- 
matically, to  deliver  his  parting  shot. 


374  THE   HEART   LINE 

"I  notice  you've  hidden  av^y  that  young  woman 
you're  living  with.  You  might  as  well  send  for  her 
— my  daughter  is  not  likely  to  be  back  again  in  a 
hurry." 

As  they  left,  Clytie  gave  him  a  look  which  denied 
her  father's  words. 

Granthope  waited  till  the  hall  door  had  slammed, 
then  went  into  the  office,  where  the  red-haired  boy  was 
lolling  out  of  the  window. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoul- 
der, "I  shall  not  need  you  any  more.  Here's  your  pay 
for  the  week.  You  needn't  come  back." 

Jim  shuffled  into  his  coat,  whistling,  pulled  on  his 
cap,  and  left  without  a  trace  of  regret.  Granthope 
pulled  a  chair  up  to  the  grate.  The  dusk  fell,  and  he 
still  remained,  watching  the  fire. 

It  was  after  six  o'clock  when  a  knock  awoke  him 
from  his  reverie.  He  called  out  a  moody,  annoyed, 
"Come  in !"  without  rising. 

Mrs.  Page  rustled  in,  bringing  an  odor  of  sandal- 
wood.  She  was  dressed  in  a  squirrel-coat  and  a 
Cossack  cap,  from  which  a  long  veil  floated.  Her 
cheeks  were  rosy  with  the  wind,  her  glossy  hair  co- 
quetted over  her  forehead  in  dark,  springy  curls.  She 
stopped,  her  head  on  one  side,  her  arms  saucily  akimbo, 
as  Granthope  sprang  up  and  snapped  on  the  electric 
light. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  found  you!"  she  bubbled. 
"You're  run  after  so  much  now  that  I  knew  it  was  only 
a  chance,  my  finding  you  in.  I  hope  I  didn't  disturb 
you  at  silent  prayer,  or  anything,  did  I?  You  looked 
terribly  serious,  Were  you  thinking  of  home  and 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    375 

mother?  If  you  don't  look  out,  some  day  you'll  be 
framed  and  labeled  Pictures  in  the  Fire.  Now,  you're 
angry  with  me!  What's  the  matter?  Don't  frown, 
please;  it  isn't  at  all  becoming!" 

She  walked  up  to  him,  her  hand  outstretched. 
Lightly  he  evaded  her  and  forced  a  smile. 

"What  an  iceberg  you  are,  nowadays,  Frank!"  she 
laughed.  "Don't  be  afraid ;  I'm  not  going  to  kiss  you ! 
It's  only  little  Violet,  the  Pride  of  the  Presidio.  Please 
laugh !  You  used  to  think  that  was  funny." 

"Do  have  a  seat,  won't  you?"  he  said,  in  a  half- 
hearted attempt  to  conceal  his  distaste. 

"Thanks,  awfully,  but  really  I  can't  wait.  I  just 
simply  tore  to  get  here,  and  I  must  go  right  off.  You 
must  come  along  with  me;  so  get  on  your  hat  and 
coat."  She  looked  about  the  room  for  them. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  without  curiosity. 

"Why,  a  dinner,  of  course !  What  else  could  it  be  at 
this  time  of  day?  It's  Mr.  Summer's  affair,  and  I 
promised  to  get  you." 

"Mr.  Summer  is  the  latest,  I  suppose?" 

She  came  back  to  him  and  took  his  coat  by  the  two 
lapels,  smiling  up  at  him. 

"That's  mean,  Frank !  You  know  I  never  went  back 
on  you.  But  you  as  much  as  gave  me  notice,  as  if  I 
was  a  servant-girl.  Gay's  a  nice  boy,  and  I  like  him — 
that's  all.  I'm  educating  him.  Of  course,  he  doesn't 
know  what's  what,  yet,  but  he's  rather  fun.  Do  come 
— we're  going  to  have  dinner  at  the  Poodle  Dog,  and 
the  Orpheum  afterward  perhaps — Heaven  knows 
where  it'll  end.  There's  an  awfully  swell  New  York 
girl  coming,  a  Miss  Cavendish,  and  she's  simply  dying 
to  meet  you.  You'll  like  her.  She's  a  sport — you  can't 


376  THE   HEART   LINE 

feaze  her — and  she's  pretty  enough  to  suit  even  you. 
You  can  have  her  all  to  yourself.    Come  on !" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  go  to-night,"  he  said  wearily. 

"Oh,  Frank,  please!  Not  if  I  beg  you?"  She 
looked  at  him  languishingly,  and  tried  for  his  hand. 

"Really,  no !    I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  too  busy." 

Mrs.  Page  pouted  and  turned  slowly  toward  the 
door. 

"I  suppose  you're  afraid  Gay'll  bore  you.  I'll  man- 
age him.  I've  got  him  trained.  Or,  if  you  say  so — 
we'll  go  alone?  Just  you  and  me.  I  can  get  rid  of 
them,  some  way." 

He  shook  his  head  decidedly. 

"Did  you  have  such  a  dull  time  the  last  time  over 
at  the  Hermitage  ?"  she  tempted.  "We  might  go  there. 
I  don't  know  when  I'll  have  another  chance.  Edgar 
will  be  back  soon."  She  raised  her  brows  meaningly. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you — but  I  can't,  possibly." 

"You  might  say  you'd  like  to !" 

"I  don't  really  care  to,  if  you  must  have  it !" 

She  bridled  and  tossed  her  head.  "Oh,  very  well !" 
she  sniffed,  and  was  off  in  a  huff. 

Granthope  went  to  the  desk,  and,  taking  a  bunch  of 
keys  from  his  pocket,  unlocked  the  two  lower  draw- 
ers. The  first  contained  a  collection  of  photographs  of 
women.  He  drew  them  out  in  handfuls,  stopping  at 
one  occasionally,  or  turning  it  over  to  see  what  was 
written  upon  it.  The  most  were  inscribed,  on  the  back, 
or  scrawled  across  the  face,  "To  Mr.  Granthope"- 
several  "To  Francis" — one  or  two  "To  Frank,  with 
love."  All  types  of  beauty  were  represented,  all  sorts 
of  costumes,  all  ages,  all  phases  of  pretty  women's 
vanity.  He  looked  at  some  with  a  puzzled  expression, 


THE  FIRST  TURNING  TO  THE  RIGHT    377 

searching  his  memory  for  a  clue  to  their  identity. 
At  a  few  he  smiled  sarcastically,  at  some  he  frowned. 
Once  or  twice  his  face  softened  to  tenderness  or  pity. 
There  was  one  of  Fancy  amongst  them,  showing  her 
in  costume.  It  had  been  taken  years  ago,  while  she 
was  acting.  He  looked  at  it  with  a  sort  of  wonder, 
she  seemed  so  young,  so  girlish.  On  the  back  was 
written,  "N.  F.  F.  I.  L."  He  put  it  back  into  the 
drawer  and  gathered  up  the  others. 

He  made  a  heap  of  them  and  threw  them  upon  the 
fire,  then  dropped  into  the  arm-chair  to  watch  them 
burn.  The  flames  passed  from  face  to  face,  licking 
up  the  features.  It  was  like  a  mimic  death. 

The  other  drawer  was  filled  with  letters,  tied  into 
bunches.  They  were  all  addressed  in  feminine  hand- 
writing, mostly  of  the  fashionable,  angular  sort.  The 
envelopes  were  postmarked  chiefly  from  San  Francisco, 
but  there  were  not  a  few  from  Eastern  cities  and 
abroad.  One  out  of  five  bore  special  delivery  stamps. 
A  scent  of  mingled  perfumes  came  from  them.  He 
cut  the  packages  open  and  threw  them  into  the  waste- 
basket  without  stopping  to  read  a  word. 

He  poked  up  the  fire,  and,  carrying  the  basket  over, 
fed  in  the  letters,  a  handful  at  a  time.  The  flames 
roared  up  the  chimney,  sending  out  a  fierce  heat.  It 
took  an  hour  to  destroy  the  whole  collection.  A  mass 
of  distorted,  blackened,  filmy  sheets  remained. 

As  he  looked,  a  sudden  draft  made  one  leaf  of  char- 
coal glow  to  a  red  heat,  and  the  writing  showed  plain 
—black  on  a  cherry-colored  ground.  He  stooped  curi- 
ously to  read  it,  and  saw  that  it  was  the  remains  of  a 
card,  filled  with  Fancy  Gray's  handwriting.  He  re- 
membered abstracting  her  notes  upon  Clytie,  made  af- 


378  THE   HEART   LINE 

ter  that  first  day's  reading.  He  had  placed  it  in  the 
letter-drawer  for  safe  keeping,  and  had  forgotten  to 
remove  it. 

Only  the  lower  part  was  legible : 

"...  intuitive  powers    (?!)         Play  her  Mysticism. 
.  .  .  .  .  Easy.        Sympathetic  fool  .  .  .  ." 

The  glow  suddenly  faded,  the  charred  paper  writhed 
again,  black  and  impotent.  He  gave  it  a  vicious  jab 
with  the  poker,  and  scattered  it  to  ashes. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   BLOODSUCKER 

Professor  Vixley's  place  was  on  Turk  Street,  the 
lower  flat  of  three,  whose  separate  doors  made  a  trip- 
let at  the  top  of  a  tri-divided  flight  of  wooden  steps  up 
from  the  sidewalk.  The  door  had  a  plate-glass  win- 
dow, behind  which  was  a  cheap  lace  curtain.  At  the 
side,  nailed  over  the  letter  slip,  was  a  card  bearing  the 
written  inscription, 

PROF.  P.  VIXLEY. 


Inside,  a  narrow  hall  ran  down  into  the  house,  doors 
leading  at  intervals  on  the  right  hand,  to  small  box- 
like  rooms.  The  first  one  was  the  Professor's  sitting- 
and  reception-room,  the  shearing  place  for  his  lambs. 
The  small  type-writer  on  a  stand  and  his  roll-top  desk 
attempted  to  give  the  room  a  businesslike  aspect,  while 
the  homelier  needs  of  comfort  were  satisfied  by  the 
machine-carved  Morris  chair,  a  padded,  quilted  couch 
with  "hand-painted"  sofa  cushions  and  a  macrame 
fringe  along  the  mantel.  Art  was  represented  by  the 
lincrusta-walton  dado  below  the  blank  white  plastered 
walls,  partly  covered  with  "spirit  photographs,"  and  a 
small  parlor  organ  in  the  corner.  A  canary  in  a  gilded 
cage  gave  a  touch  of  gaiety  to  the  apartment. 

Here  Professor  Vixley  sat  smoking  a  terrible  cigar. 
Beside  him,  upon  a  small  draped  table,  was  a  pile  of 

379 


380  THE   HEART   LINE 

small  school  slates,  a  tumbler  of  water  and  a  sad  towel. 

Opposite  him,  in  a  patent  rocking-chair,  was  a  young 
woman  of  some  twenty-four  or  five  years.  She  was 
a  blonde,  with  pompadoured  citron-yellow  hair.  Her 
eyes  were  deep  violet,  her  nose  slightly  retrousse,  giv- 
ing her  a  whimsical,  almost  petulantly  juvenile  look 
that  was  decidedly  engaging.  She  was  dressed  in 
black,  so  fittingly  that  no  man  would  remember  what 
she  wore  five  minutes  after  he  left  her.  This  attractive 
creature,  for  she  was  indubitably  winsome,  was  Flora 
Flint,  by  profession  a  materializing  medium.  Her 
past  was  prolific  in  adventure ;  by  her  alluring  person 
and  the  dashing  spirit  shown  in  her  eyes,  her  future 
promised  as  much  as  her  past. 

"Are  you  busy  to-day,  Vixley?"  she  said. 

"That's  what,"  said  Vixley.  "I've  got  a  good  graft 
doped  out,  and  it's  liable  to  be  a  big  thing.  First  time 
to-day.  One  of  Gertie  Spoil's  strikes,  and  we're  work- 
ing him  together.  Old  man  Payson  it  is." 

"Oh,  that's  the  one  Doc  Masterson  expected  me  to 
help  him  with,  isn't  it?"  Flora  asked.  "I  wish  you'd 
let  me  in  on  that.* 

"He  ain't  in  your  line,  Flo,  I  expect.  Ain't  you 
doin'  anything  now?" 

"Only  the  regular  set,  the  same  old  stand-bys,  and 
there's  nothing  in  it  at  four  bits  apiece.  I've  got  so 
many  people  to  pay  that  even  if  I  get  forty  or  fifty  in 
a  circle  my  expenses  eat  it  all  up.  Then  I  have  to 
keep  thinking  up  new  stunts  and  buy  props." 

"You  don't  have  to  spend  much  on  gas,"  Vixley 
laughed,  as  he  began  washing  off  his  slates. 

Flora  smiled.  "No,  but  it  comes  to  about  the  same 
thing  in  luminous  paint." 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  381 

"Why  don't  you  make  it  yourself?  It  ain't  nothin' 
but  ground  oyster-shells  and  sulphur." 

"Oh,  it  ain't  only  that.  I  only  use  the  best  silk 
gauze  that'll  fold  up  small — that's  expensive;  then 
there's  a  lot  of  work  on  the  forms." 

"Don't  you  get  your  forms  from  Chicago  now?" 
Vixley  asked. 

"No,  they're  no  good.  I  can  make  better  ones  my- 
self. Oh,  occasionally  I  send  for  a  rubber  face  or 
two  or  some  cabinet  attachments  and  extensions.  I 
wish  I  was  clever  enough  to  do  the  slates."  She 
watched  the  Professor  sharply. 

"Oh,  they  ain't  nothin'  in  slates  nowadays — it  don't 
seem  to  take,  somehow.  They  mostly  prefer  the 
psychics.  I  s'pose  slate-writin'  has  been  wrote  up  too 
much — I  know  a  dozen  books  describin'  the  tricks,  and 
here's  this  Drexel  chap  teachin'  'em  at  a  dollar 
apiece,  even.  He's  a  queer  guy.  When  he  can  get  a 
bookin'  he  travels  as  a  magician;  durin'  his  off-times 
he  sells  his  tricks  to  amachures,  and  then  when  he's 
down  on  his  uppers  he  does  the  medium.  I'm  sorry 
I  went  into  physical  mediumship;  the  graft's  about 
played  out — people  is  gettin'  too  intelligent.  I've 
a  good  mind  to  try  the  developin'  stunt  again." 

"Say,  do  you  think  Madam  Spoil  has  any  real 
power?"  Flora  asked. 

Vixley  stopped  in  his  work  to  become  epigrammatic. 
"Some  mediums  are  'on'  and  some  are  honest — them 
that's  honest  are  fools  and  them  that's  'on'  are  foolin'. 
Gertie's  'on*  all  right,  and  she  does  considerable  fishin'. 
I  don't  say  that  when  she  started  she  didn't  have  some 
faculty — she  used  to  scare  me  good,  sometimes,  and 
she  could  catch  a  name  occasional.  But  Lord,  it's  so 


382  THE    HEART    LINE 

much  easier  to  fake  it;  you  can  generally  depend  on 
human  nature,  and  you  can't  on  psychometry." 

"I  can  tell  things  sometimes,"  Flora  ventured. 

"Can  you?"  said  Vixley.  "Say,  I  wish  you'd  give 
me  a  readin';  they's  somethin'  I  want  to  know  about 
pretty  bad ;  p'raps  you  could  get  it  for  me." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  too  well.  I  can't  do  it  much,  ex- 
cept the  first  time  I  see  a  party ;  but  sometimes,  when 
I'm  materializing,  I  can  go  right  down  and  say  Tm 
Henry/  or  whatever  the  name  is." 

"I  guess  they're  more  likely  to  say,  'Are  you  Henry  ?' 
They're  so  crazy  to  be  fooled  that  it's  a  crime  to  take 
their  money." 

"Women  are.  They're  easy.  They  simply  won't  go 
away  without  a  wonderful  story  to  tell  to  their  friends, 
but  men  are  more  skeptical,  as  a  rule." 

"That's  right.  But,  Lord,  when  they  do  swal- 
low it,  they  take  the  hook,  bait  and  sinker. 
Why,  look  here,  I  had  a  party  what  used  to  come  regu- 
lar about  a  girl  he  was  stuck  on,  a  Swede  he  was. 
Well,  one  day  he  went  up  to  this  Drexel  and  he  showed 
him  one  or  two  easy  ways  o'  workin'  the  slates,  provin' 
it  was  all  tricks.  The  Swede  comes  back  to  me  and 
says,  'Oh/  says  he,  'I  know  it's  all  a  fake  now;  you 
can't  fool  me  no  more/  I  looked  him  straight  in  the 
eye  and  I  says :  'Don't  you  know  that  fellow  is  really 
one  of  the  best  mediums  in  the  business,  and  he's  con- 
trolled by  Martin  Luther?  He  was  just  tryin'  to  test 
your  belief  by  denyin'  the  truth  o*  spiritualism,  and 
seein'  if  you'd  have  the  courage  to  stand  up  for  what 
you  believed.  If  your  faith  ain't  no  stronger  than  that, 
after  the  tests  I  gave  you,  you'd  better  go  into  Mor- 
monism  and  be  done  with  it/  " 


THE    BLOODSUCKER  383 

"Did  that  hold  him?" 

"I've  got  that  fellow  yet ;  twice  a  month,  regular,  I 
get  his  little  old  two  dollars;  Lord,  he  swears  by  me 
now.  No,  them  that  want  to  believe  will  believe,  and 
you  can't  pry  'em  off  with  a  crowbar.  Ain't  that 
right?" 

"I  guess  yes!"  said  Flora.  "But  what  gets  my 
game  is  the  widow  that  used  to  quarrel  like  cats  and 
dogs  when  her  husband  was  alive  and  leaks  on  his 
shoulder  when  he  comes  to  her  in  the  spirit !  They're 
the  limit!  When  a  woman  once  gets  it  into  her  head 
that  the  dear  departed  can  take  possession  of  a  living 
body,  there  ain't  anything  she  won't  stand  for.  My 
brother  had  a  lovely  case  once.  It  was  a  woman  whose 
husband  hadn't  passed  out  more  than  two  months  and 
she  was  all  broke  up.  Well,  Harry  got  her  to  believe 
that  her  husband  could  get  control  of  his  body  and 
talk  to  her.  At  first  the  woman  wasn't  quite  sure,  so 
Harry,  talking  to  her  as  her  husband,  claimed  that  he 
himself  was  in  a  dead  trance.  'Why/  he  said,  'if  you 
should  stick  a  pin  into  this  medium's  leg  here,  he 
wouldn't  feel  it  at  all !'  That  was  where  he  was  fool- 
ish, for  the  woman  said,  'Is  that  so?  I  guess  I'll 
just  try  it  and  see.'  So  Harry  had  to  stand  for  it  while 
she  jabbed  a  hat  pin  into  him,  but  he  was  game  and 
didn't  whimper.  Of  course  that  convinced  the  woman 
that  she  was  really  communicating  with  her  lawful 
husband,  and  she  begun  to  kiss  and  hug  Harry  to  beat 
the  cars,  she  was  so  glad  to  get  hubby  back." 

"Well,  it's  all  in  a  day's  work!"  Vixley  showed 
his  sharp  yellow  fangs  in  a  grin. 

"Oh,  you  have  to  make  it  pleasant  for  sitters,  some- 
times," Flora  yawned. 


384  TftE    HEART    LINE 

"I  guess  it's  no  trouble  for  you,"  Vixley  said,  look- 
ing at  her  with  admiration. 

Flora  yawned.  "Well,  I  guess  we  earn  our  money, 
what  with  skeptics  and  all.  Now,  if  you  have  any  of 
these  reporters  come  in  you  can  get  rid  of  them  easy — 
but  we  can't.  We've  got  to  make  good  for  the  sake 
of  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  unless  they  get  so  gay  with 
us  that  we  can  fire  'em  out." 

"That's  right.  I  never  bother  with  skeptics ;  what's 
the  use?  I  don't  want  their  money  enough  to  risk 
their  jumpin'  up  and  gettin'  on  to  the  game.  No,  sir! 
When  any  of  these  slick  chaps  that  look  like  newspaper 
men  or  sports,  come  in,  I  just  do  a  few  lines  and  then 
tell  'em  conditions  ain't  satisfactory  and  let  'em  go. 
It  ain't  no  use  takin'  chances." 

"You're  in  luck,  Vixley,  I  tell  you!  I've  had  no 
end  of  trouble.  Why,  last  week  a  couple  o'  fresh  guys 
come  in  and  scattered  a  package  of  tacks  all  over  the 
floor.  When  I  come  out  in  my  stocking  feet  I  thought 
I'd  die,  it  hurt  so.  But  I  had  to  just  grin  and  bear 
it !  My  feet  are  so  sore  yet  I  can  hardly  walk.  I  have 
to  sweep  the  carpet  now,  just  as  soon  as  it's  dark, 
every  time,  unless  Lulu's  there  to  watch  out!" 

Vixley  laughed  for  almost  five  minutes.  He  had  to 
dry  his  eyes  with  a  silk  handkerchief. 

"Oh,  Professor,"  said  Flora,  "I  almost  forgot  what 
I  came  for.  You  know  Harry's  doing  the  Middle 
West  now  with  Mademoiselle  Laflamme,  the  Inspi- 
rational Contralto,  and  he  wanted  me  to  ask  you  if 
you  had  anything  on  Missouri  and  Iowa.  Would 
you  mind  lending  him  your  test-book?  You  was  out 
there  a  few  years  ago,  wasn't  you?" 

"Sure.    I'll  look  and  see  if  I  can  find  it,"  and  Vixley 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  385 

arose  and  left  the  room.    He  was  gone  a  few  minutes, 
and  returned  with  a  small,  blue-covered  note-book. 

"Here's  my  test-book,"  he  said,  handing  it  over. 
"It's  rather  behind  the  times.  It  was  five  ;fears  ago 
that  I  was  out  there,  but  maybe  Harry  can  get  some- 
thing out  of  it." 

"How  did  you  get  the  dope,  swapping?" 
"Oh,  no,  I  done  it  all  myself,  and  it's  O.  K.  I 
went  through  the  country  first  as  a  book-agent,  and 
I  kep'  my  eyes  and  ears  open.  I  took  a  look  or  two 
through  the  cemeteries,  when  I  had  time,  and  I  read 
up  the  local  papers  pretty  good.  Of  course  I  wouldn't 
go  back  till  a  year  after  I  got  a  town  planted,  but 
then  it  was  easy  graft." 

"I  suppose  these  abbreviations  are  all  plain?" 
"Yes,  Harry  will  read  that  all  right,  he  knows  the 
regular  cipher.     The  name  after  the  first  one  is  the 
party's  control.     I've  writ  in  a  few  messages  that'll 
work,  and  all  the  tests  I  know." 

She  opened  the  book  and  ran  through  the  pages 
which  ran  something  like  this: 

Jefferson  City,  Mo. 

Mrs.    Henry    Field         "Mayflower"         hb          John        died 
pneumonia  1870      .good        wishes      from      little 

Emily       broken       leg. 

Cameron,  Mo. 

Mrs.  Osborne       "Pauline"       hub     James  calls  him     Jimmie 
da  disappeared  July  1897  found  drowned  in  Red 
River       August       Aunt  Molly  is  happy       Love  to  Belle 
and  Joe. 

Flora  put  the  book  in  her  bag,  and  then  reached 
over  and  took  up  one  of  the  slates.  The  one  on  top  was 


386  THE   HEART   LINE 

marked  diagonally  with  two  chalk-lines,  and  over  this 
was  written  in  slate-pencil  the  following  inscription : 

801,101 

Chapter 

Marigold. 

Beside  this,  was  a  thin  sheet  of  slate.  She  placed  it 
over  the  marked  surface.  It  fitted  the  frame  exactly 
and  looked,  at  a  cursory  glance,  precisely  like  the  other 
slates,  its  dark  surface  being  clean. 

She  took  up  another  slate.    On  this  was  written : 

Unforeseen  difficulties  will  prevent  your 
book  being  successful,  if  you  do  not  take 
care.  Felicia. 

The  Professor  grinned.  "That's  the  dope  for  old 
Payson,"  he  explained.  "He  ought  to  be  here  any  time, 
now."  He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"What  game  are  you  going  to  work  with  him?" 
Flora  asked. 

"Oh,  only  a  few  of  the  old  stunts.  He's  so  easy 
that  it  won't  be  nothin'  but  child's  play.  I  got  a  lot 
of  the  old-fashioned  slab-slates  for  a  starter,  and  I  can 
change  'em  on  him  whenever  I  want.  He  won't  in- 
sist on  test  conditions.  Anyways,  if  he  does,  I  got 
my  little  spirit  friend  here  handy." 

He  reached  up  his  sleeve,  and  pulled  down  a  thimble 
attached  to  an  elastic  cord.  To  the  end  of  the  thimble 
a  small  piece  of  slate-pencil  was  affixed. 

"The  only  hard  part  about  it  is  learnin'  to  write 
backwards  and  upside  down,"  he  commented,  as  he  let 
the  instrument  snap  back  out  of  sight.  "Say,  I  wish't 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  387 

I  had  a  double- jointed  leg  like  Slade!  I  tell  you  I'd 
give  some  sittin's  in  this  town  that  would  paralyze 
the  Psychical  Research !" 

"But  what's  this  stuff  on  the  slates  mean?" 

"Oh,  them  is  the  answers  I've  prepared.  You  see, 
I  happened  to  get  hold  of  some  questions  he's  goin' 
to  ask,  from  a  young  fellow  who  goes  to  his  house ;  and 
so  havin'  inside  information,  it  saves  considerable 
trouble.  Funny  thing — this  chap  wants  to  marry  the 
daughter,  who'll  have  money,  I  suppose,  and  he's 
standin'  in  with  me  on  account  o'  what  I  can  do  for 
him  through  the  old  man." 

"Why,  I  heard  that  Granthope  was  setting  his  traps 
for  her!" 

Vixley  scowled.  "That's  right,  too.  Frank's  got 
something  up  his  sleeve  that  I  can't  fathom.  He's 
been  trying  to  buy  me  off,  in  fact,  but  he'll  never  do  it. 
This  fellow  Cayley  naturally  has  got  it  in  for  him, 
Frank  bein'  pretty  thick  with  the  girl.  So  I  got  to 
play  both  ends  and  work  the  old  man  for  Cayley  and 
against  Frank.  But  I  can  do  it  all  right.  The  old 
man's  a  cinch!" 

Flora  walked  up  to  him.  "You're  in  luck,"  she 
said.  She  permitted  him  to  put  his  arm  about  her 
small  trim  waist  and  looked  at  him  good-naturedly. 
"Say,  Vixley,  if  he's  as  easy  as  that,  why  can't  you  fix 
it  for  some  good  materializing?  We  could  do  all  sorts 
of  things  for  him." 

"I'd  thought  of  that.  It  might  be  a  good  idea  later, 
and  we  may  talk  business  with  you." 

"Well,  when  you're  ready,  I'll  do  anything  you  say. 
You  know  me." 

At  that  moment  the  front  door-bell  rang. 


388  THE   HEART    LINE 

"Here  he  is  now !"  Vixley  exclaimed.  "Say,  Flora, 
you  go  out  the  back  door  through  the  kitchen,  will 
you?  It  won't  do  for  him  to  see  you  here." 

"Sure !  I'll  spare  him.  The  Doc  says  he's  scared  to 
death  of  a  pretty  woman,"  and  she  disappeared  down 
the  hall. 

Professor  Vixley  went  to  the  front  door,  welcomed 
Mr.  Payson  with  an  oily  smile,  took  his  hat  and  coat 
and  then  let  him  into  a  small  chamber  next  to  the 
front  room.  There  were  two  straight  chairs  here  on 
either  side  of  a  table  which  was  draped  with  an 
embroidered  cloth.  Behind  was  a  high  bookcase. 

"Well,  I'm  all  ready  for  you,  Mr.  Payson,"  said  the 
medium.  "We'll  see  what  we  can  do.  If  we  don't  get 
anything  I  won't  charge  you  a  cent.  Have  you  ever 
seen  any  slate-writin'  done  before?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Payson,  "but  I've  heard 
a  good  deal  about  it." 

"It's  a  very  interestin'  phenomena.  Now,  before  we 
begin,  p'raps  you'd  like  to  examine  this  table ;  it's  been 
examined  so  often,  that  it's  pretty  well  used  to  it  by 
this  time,  but  I  want  to  have  you  satisfied  that  there's 
no  possibility  of  trickery  or  deceit." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  off  the  cover,  and  turned  the 
table  upside  down.  Mr.  Payson  looked  it  over  gravely 
and  knocked  on  the  top  to  see  if  it  were  hollow.  The 
investigation  finished,  Professor  Vixley  said : 

"May  I  ask  who  recommended  you  to  me  ?" 

"Madam  Spoil — I  suppose  you  know  her." 

"Oh,  yes,  and  I  admire  her,  too.  Madam  Spoil  is  a 
wonderful  woman.  I  don't  know  how  this  community 
could  get  on  without  her.  She's  brought  more  satis- 
faction to  them  desirin'  communication  with  their  dear 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  389 

departed  than  all  the  rest  of  us  mediums  put  together. 
She's  doin'  a  great  work,  Mr.  Payson.  But  she  has 
more  success  with  what  you  might  call  affairs  of  the 
heart,  while  I  find  my  control  prefers  generally  to 
help  out  in  the  way  of  business.  We're  all  specialists, 
nowadays,  you  know." 

"I  should  think  that  the  spirits  could  help  in  one  way 
as  well  as  another." 

"Now  would  you?"  said  Vixley,  fixing  the  old  man 
with  his  glittering  eyes.  "Spirits  ain't  so  much  differ- 
ent from  people  on  this  side.  Some  o'  them  is  in- 
terested in  one  thing,  and  some  in  another,  same  as 
we  are.  Some  is  nearer  what  I  might  call  the  material 
plane  and  some  has  progressed  so  they  don't  take 
much  interest  in  earthly  affairs." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I'd  always  have  an  interest  in 
my  friends,"  said  Mr.  Payson. 

"Does  it?"  Vixley  replied.  "Where  was  you 
raised?" 

"In  Vermont.  I  lived  there  till  I  was  ten  years 
old." 

"Well,  are  you  much  interested  in  the  kids  you  knew 
when  you  went  to  school  there?" 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Well,  then,  that's  the  way  it  is  with  spirits  who 
have  got  progression.  Their  life  on  earth  seems  like 
childhood's  days  to  them.  Lord,  they  have  their  own 
business  to  attend  to.  I  expect  it  keeps  'em  pretty 
busy." 

"Well,  I  don't  know."  Mr.  Payson  shook  his  head 
and  seated  himself.  "It's  all  very  strange  and  mysteri- 
ous. But  I'm  only  an  investigator,  and  what  I  want 
is  the  truth,  no  matter  what  it  mav  be." 


390  THE   HEART    LINE 

"That's  the  right  frame  o'  mind  to  come  in,"  said 
Vixley;  "you  treat  me  right  and  I'll  treat  you  right. 
Have  a  cigar?"  He  took  one  from  his  pocket  and 
put  it  unlighted  into  his  mouth,  offering  another  to 
Mr.  Payson. 

"No,  thanks,  I  don't  smoke." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  will.  It's  a  bad  habit, 
I'm  told,  but  it  sorts  o'  helps  me  when  I'm  nervous." 

Mr.  Payson  placed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together, 
palm  to  palm,  and  gestured  with  them.  "Now,  Pro- 
fessor Vixley,  seeing  that  I  know  nothing  about  you, 
would  you  mind  letting  me  see  what  you  can  do  first 
in  the  way  of  a  test,  before  we  go  to  the  main  object 
of  my  visit?" 

"Why,  certainly,  though  I  can't  promise  to  do  any- 
thing conclusive  the  first  time.  I  want  you  to  feel  at 
liberty  to  try  me  in  any  way  you  wish." 

"Well,  I've  got  three  questions  I'd  like  to  have  you 
answer.  I  happen  to  know  that  you  couldn't  possibly 
know  what  they  are.  If  you  can  answer  them,  I'll  be 
satisfied  that  you  can  help  me." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Vixley  modestly.  "It  all  depends 
upon  my  guides,  and  we  can't  tell  till  we  begin."  He 
arose,  walked  to  the  mantel  and  brought  back  a  small 
pad  of  paper. 

"Here's  what  I  generally  use.  This  paper  is  mag- 
netized in  order  to  make  it  easier.  Examine  it  all  you 
please — you  won't  find  no  carbon  transfer  paper  nor 
nothin'  like  that." 

"Why  can't  I  use  my  own  paper?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  more  idea  than  you  have,"  the 
medium  confessed  candidly.  "Why  can't  a  photog- 
rapher take  a  picture  on  common  glass?  I  don't 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  391 

know.  I  ain't  a  photographer.  All  I  do  know  is,  that 
we  can  get  results  from  this  paper  that  my  control 
has  magnetized,  when  we  can't  from  yours.  The  spirits 
may  be  able  to  explain  it — I  can't.  Now  you  write 
down  the  name  of  your  control  and  your  three  ques- 
tions, one  on  each  piece  and  fold  it  over  twice.  Then 
I'll  pull  down  the  shades  and  see  what  I  can  do." 

Mr.  Payson  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table 
querulously.  "That's  another  thing  I  don't  like,"  he 
said.  "Why  can't  spirits  work  in  the  light  as  well  as  in 
the  dark,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  It  looks  suspicious  to  me." 

Vixley  took  the  cigar  from  his  teeth  and  sat  down 
patiently  before  his  dupe.  He  rapped  with  his  fore- 
finger upon  the  table.  "See  here,  it's  this  way, 
Mr.  Payson;  every  science  has  its  own  condition 
that  has  got  to  be  fulfilled  before  any  experiment  can 
be  a  success,  hasn't  it?  You  can't  go  against  nature. 
If  you  want  an  electric  light  or  telephone,  you  have  to 
run  wires,  don't  you  ?  Why  ?  I  don't  know — I'm  not 
an  electrician.  If  you  want  to  develop  a  photograph, 
you  have  to  do  it  in  the  dark.  Why  ?  I  don't  know — 
go  ask  a  photographer.  If  you  want  to  make  a  seed 
grow,  you  put  it  down  into  the  dirt  and  water  it. 
Why  ?  I  don't  know.  Nobody  knows.  It's  one  o'  the 
mysteries  o'  life.  In  the  same  way,  if  you  want  to  get 
results  in  spiritualism,  you  have  to  submit  to  the  con- 
ditions that  are  imposed  by  my  guide.  Why?  I 
don't  know.  And  what's  more,  I  don't  care.  If  I  can 
get  the  results,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me  how  they 
come.  All  I  do  know  is  that  fifty  years'  experience 
has  shown  us  mediums  the  proper  conditions  necessary 
for  the  physical  manifestation  of  phenomena.  Full 
daylight  is  all  right  for  psychic  influences,  but  it  don't 


392  THE   HEART   LINE 

do  for  slate-writin'.  The  question  is  whether  you 
want  to  accept  the  conditions  I  give  you,  or  do  you 
expect  the  spirits  to  work  in  a  way  that's  impossible  ?" 

Mr.  Payson,  overcome  with  this  profound  logic,  sub- 
mitted without  further  protest  to  having  the  shades 
drawn  down.  The  Professor  reseated  himself  'and 
waited  till  the  three  slips  were  written  and  folded  ac- 
cording to  direction.  In  his  own  lap  were  three  blank 
slips  folded  in  exactly  the  same  manner. 

Vixley  now  pressed  his  brow  and  smoothed  it  with 
both  hands.  "Some  fakirs  will  palm  a  blank  slip  and 
exchange  it  for  your  written  one,  but  you  see  I  ain't 
got  nothin'  in  my  hands,"  he  said,  showing  them  empty. 
Even  as  he  spoke  he  dropped  his  hands  into  his  lap, 
and  secreted  one  of  his  folded  slips  in  his  palm.  Then 
he  reached  for  one  of  Payson's  written  questions  and 
seemed  to  place  it  on  the  old  man's  forehead,  but 
quick  as  was  the  motion,  he  had  made  the  substitution. 

"You  hold  this  paper  there  while  I  go  and  get  the 
slates.  And  keep  your  mind  on  the  question  as  hard 
as  you  can." 

He  returned  in  a  moment,  having  glanced  mean- 
while at  Mr.  Payson's  first  question,  while  he  was 
outside,  bringing  back  a  dozen  or  more  slates  which 
he  put  on  the  book-shelf.  He  took  off  the  top  one 
and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Payson. 

"Just  look  at  it,  examine  it  all  you  want  to,  and 
then  take  this  wet  towel,  wash  it  off  clean  and  dry  it 
with  the  other  end,  please." 

As  the  old  man  did  so,  the  Professor  went  to  the 
pile  and  took  down  the  next  slate.  This  was  the  first 
one  which  Flora  had  read,  the  writing  being  now  con- 
cealed by  the  thin  slab  which  fitted  neatly  into  the 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  393 

frame.  As  Mr.  Payson  handed  back  the  first  slate, 
Professor  Vixley,  looking  him  intently  in  the  eye,  said : 

"Now,  can  you  tell  me  about  how  many  years  ago 
it  was  that  your  control  passed  out?  Was  it  five 
years,  twenty,  or  how  long?" 

The  question  was  accurately  timed  so  as  to  be  put 
just  as  Mr.  Payson  extended  his  hand.  Vixley's  eyes 
held  the  old  man's  in  a  direct  gaze.  During  this 
psychological  moment  while  his  victim  was  intently 
trying  to  answer  the  question,  the  Professor,  with  a 
facile  movement,  put  the  two  slates  together  and 
handed  back  the  same  one  that  had  been  washed. 

"I  should  say  it  would  be  nearly  thirty  years — 
twenty-seven." 

"All  right,"  said  Vixley.  "Now,  take  this  slate 
and  wash  it  off  like  you  did  the  other."  The  old  man 
did  so  without  noticing  that  it  was  the  same  one  he  had 
had  before. 

Vixley  took  back  the  slate  when  he  had  finished,  and, 
with  a  piece  of  chalk,  drew  diagonal  lines  from  corner 
to  corner  upon  each  of  the  faces  of  both  slates. 

"That  will  show  you  that  the  writin'  hasn't  been 
prepared  beforehand,  for  you'll  see  that  the  pencil  will 
write  through  the  chalk,  showin'  it's  been  done  after  I 
made  these  lines." 

As  he  held  the  two  slates  together  in  his  hand,  the 
false  sheet  from  the  upper  one  fell  into  the  frame  of 
the  lower.  He  laid  the  two  upon  the  table  and  took 
off  the  top  one.  The  lower  surface  upon  which  the 
writing  was  now  exposed  he  took  care  to  hold  so  that 
it  could  not  be  seen.  Next,  .he  took  the  slip  of  paper 
which  Mr.  Payson  had  been  holding,  substituted  for  it 
with  a  deft  motion  the  written  question  which  he  had 


394  THE    HEART    LINE 

previously  palmed,  and,  throwing  the  blank  into  his 
lap,  dropped  the  real  one,  with  a  small  fragment  of 
slate-pencil,  upon  the  slate.  He  put  the  written  slate 
on  top  of  the  other,  writing  down,  then  asked  the  old 
man  to  hold  it  in  position,  laying  his  own  fingers  upon 
it  as  well.  A  faint  scratching  was  heard.  It  was  too 
dark  for  the  old  man  to  notice  the  slight  motions  of 
Vixley's  finger-nail  upon  the  surface.  After  a  moment 
he  removed  the  top  slate  and  showed  the  writing,  then 
unfolded  the  slip. 

Mr.  Pay  son  looked  at  the  inscription  with  curiosity 
and  surprise.  "Marvelous!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why, 
it's  incredible.  I  didn't  know  it  could  be  done  as 
simply  as  that.  Why,  all  three  of  my  questions  are 
answered  and  they  haven't  left  my  possession." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  very  strong  control.  Are  the 
answers  correct?" 

"I'll  soon  find  out,"  said  Mr.  Payson,  "if  you'll 
raise  the  shades  while  I  look  at  this  book."  He  cut 
the  strings  of  a  package  he  had  brought  into  the  room, 
showed  his  copy  of  the  Astrology  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment and  turned  to  page  one  hundred. 

"Here  it  is,  'Chapter  IX.'  It's  most  extraordinary, 
indeed !  Now  for  the  number  of  my  watch.  Do  you 
know,  I  didn't  even  know  these  answers  myself.  That 
would  tend  to  prove  it's  not  mere  telepathy,  wouldn't 
it?" 

He  took  out  his  watch  and  opened  the  back  covers. 
Upon  the  frame  were  engraved  the  figures  "801,101." 

"That's  correct,  too.  Now  for  the  last  one — have 
you  a  telephone?" 

"Right  down  at  the  end  of  the  hall." 

"If  you'll  excuse  me  a  moment  I'll  ring  up  a  friend 


THE    BLOODSUCKER  395 

of  mine  who  will  know  whether  this  is  the  right  name 
or  not." 

In  five  minutes  he  returned  with  an  expression  of 
wonder  upon  his  face.  "I  wanted  to  make  sure  that 
this  couldn't  be  got  from  my  mind,  so  I  asked  a  friend 
of  mine  to  select  a  name  for  me.  It  seems  that  Mari- 
gold was  the  name.  This  is  a  most  wonderful  and 
convincing  test,  Mr.  Vixley;  I  must  say  that  I'm 
amazed." 

The  Professor  took  his  praise  modestly.  "Oh,  I 
hope  to  do  much  better  for  you  than  this  after  a  while, 
Mr.  Payson.  The  main  point  is,  that  now  we  can  get 
to  work  in  such  a  way  as  to  help  you  practically,  with- 
out wastin'  your  time  on  mere  experiments.  These 
test  conditions  is  very  apt  to  deteriorate  mediumship 
and  I  don't  like  to  do  no  more  of  it  than  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  convince  you  of  the  genuineness  of  my 
manifestations. 

"Now,"  he  added,  "before  we  draw  down  the  shades 
again,  you  write  down  some  important  question  you 
want  answered  and  we'll  get  down  to  business." 

When  Mr.  Payson  had  finished  writing,  the  medium, 
taking  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  vest  pocket  unobserved, 
held  it  under  the  table,  saying : 

"Now  you  fold  it  twice,  each  time  in  half."  As 
Payson  did  so,  Vixley  folded  his  own  slip  in  a  similar 
manner  and  held  it  palmed  in  his  left  hand.  After 
drawing  the  shades,  he  said:  "Now,  then,  will  you 
please  hold  that  paper  to  your  forehead?  Not  like 
that — here,  let  me  show  you." 

He  took  the  slip  from  Mr.  Payson  and  dexterously 
substituting  for  it  his  own  duplicate,  held  it  to  his  own 
forehead.  "This  way,  so  that  it  will  be  in  plain  sight 


396  THE   HEART   LINE 

all  the  time."  He  gave  the  blank  slip  to  his  sitter,  who 
obeyed  the  directions. 

"I  think  we'll  do  better  if  there's  less  light,"  Vixley 
said,  as  he  arose  to  draw  the  shades.  "You  keep  hold 
of  that  paper.  I  don't  want  it  to  go  out  of  your 
possession  for  a  moment.  You  see  I  couldn't  read  it 
even  if  I  had  it,  it's  so  dark.  But  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
I'll  light  this  cigar ;  I  haven't  had  a  smoke  all  day." 

As  he  spoke,  he  went  to  the  bookcase,  and  standing, 
facing  Mr.  Payson,  he  took  a  match  from  a  box  on  the 
top  and  lighted  the  cigar  which  was  between  his  teeth. 
His  left  hand,  which  had  already  secretly  unfolded  the 
ballot,  covered  the  paper.  He  put  it  up  with  a  natural 
gesture  to  keep  the  match  from  being  blown  out  as  he 
lighted  his  cigar.  The  operation  took  only  a  few 
seconds,  but  in  that  time,  illuminated  by  the  match,  he 
was  able  to  read  the  words :  "Will  my  book  be  a  suc- 
cess?" He  dropped  his  hand,  refolded  the  ballot  with 
his  fingers  and  held  it  hidden.  Then  he  took  two  slates 
from  the  pile. 

There  are  many  well-known  ways  of  slate-writing, 
and  the  sleight-of-hand  necessary  in  obtaining  the  bal- 
lots and  writing  the  answers  is  simple  compared  with 
the  sort  of  psychological  juggling  in  which  the  me- 
dium must  be  an  adept.  Professor  Vixley,  however, 
had  no  need  of  any  special  craft  with  the  old  man. 
Mr.  Payson  was  by  no  means  a  skilled  observer,  and, 
credulous  and  desirous  of  a  marvel,  was  easily  hood- 
winked by  Vixley's  talk.  The  simplest  methods  suf- 
ficed, and  he  worked  with  increasing  confidence,  pre- 
paring his  sitter's  mind,  till  it  would  be  possible  for  the 
medium  merely  to  sit  at  the  table  and  write  openly 
under  the  supposititious  influence  of  his  control. 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  397 

The  second  experiment  terminated  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  message  that  Flora  Flint  had  read  in  the 
front  room,  the  message  signed  "Felicia." 

Mr.  Payson  read  the  communication  with  a  frown. 
"That's  bad,"  he  said,  "I'm  very  sorry  to  find  that  this 
answer  isn't  favorable." 

"What's  the  matter?"  the  Professor  asked  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Well,  you  see,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I'm 
writing  a  book,  Professor,"  said  Mr.  Payson,  wiping 
his  spectacles,  "and,  of  course,  I  am  anxious  that  it 
should  be  a  success.  It  seems  from  this  that  there  is 
likely  to  be  some  trouble  about  it — I  don't  quite  under- 
stand how." 

Vixley  tipped  back  in  his  chair  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "I  thought  you  looked  like  an  intellectual- 
minded  man.  O'  course,  it  wan't  my  place  to  ask 
no  questions,  but  when  you  come  in  I  sized  you  up 
as  a  party  who  wan't  entirely  devoted  to  a  pure 
business  life.  So  you've  written  a  book,  eh?  Well, 
I'm  sure  my  control  could  help  you.  I'll  ask  him,  and 
see  what's  to  be  done.  But  for  that,  I  think  we'll 
be  more  liable  to  be  successful  at  automatic  writin' 
than  by  independent  slate-writin'.  It's  more  quicker 
and  satisfactory  all  round." 

"How  do  you  suppose  the  spirits  can  help?"  said  Mr. 
Payson. 

"Why,"  said  Vixley,  "all  sorts  o'  ways.  It's  like  this : 
I  don't  know  nothing  about  your  book,  but  I  do  know 
what's  happened  before.  Take  Gibbon's  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  for  instance.  He  pre- 
dicted that  there  wouldn't  never  be  no  more  wars — 
he  claimed  we'd  outlived  the  possibility  of  it,  and 


398  THE    HEART    LINE 

everything  would  be  settled  peaceably.  What  hap- 
pened? Why,  Napoleon  arose  inside  o'  fifty  years 
and  they  was  wars  like  never  had  been  seen  on  earth. 
Now,  if  Gibbon  had  only  been  able  to  put  himself 
in  communication  with  the  spirit  intelligence,  he 
wouldn't  have  made  that  mistake — the  spirits  would 
have  told  him  what  was  goin'  to  happen.  Look  at 
Voltaire!  He  went  on  record  by  sayin'  that  in  fifty 
years  they  wouldn't  be  no  more  churches.  Now  he's 
a  ridicule  and  a  by-word  amongst  Christian  people. 
If  he'd  only  consulted  the  spirit-plane  he  wouldn't  have 
made  a  fool  of  hisself.  But,  o'  course,  spiritualism 
wan't  heard  of  then  no  more  than  Voltaire's  heard 
of  now.  Now  let's  say,  for  example,  you  was  writin' 
a  book  on  evolution  ten  years  ago,  thoroughly  believin' 
in  Darwin's  theory  o'  the  origin  of  species.  Up  to  that 
time  nobody  believed  that  a  new  specie  had  been 
evolved  since  man.  But  look  at  this  here  Burbank  up 
to  Santa  Rosa — he  has  gone  to  work  and  produced 
some  absolutely  new  species,  and  what's  more,  I 
predicted  his  success  in  this  very  room  ten  years  ago. 
If  you'd  written  on  evolution  then,  you  might  have 
taken  advantage  o'  what  I  could  have  gave  you. 
Now,  for  all  I  know,  some  man  may  come  along  and 
breed  two  different  animals  together,  p'raps  through 
vivisection  or  what  not,  and  develop  a  bran'  new  kind 
of  specie  in  the  animal  world.  Heart  disease  and 
cancer  and  consumption  are  supposed  by  modern 
science  to  be  incurable,  but  I  wouldn't  venture  to 
write  that  down  in  a  book  till  I  had  taken  the  means 
at  my  disposal  o'  findin'  out  whether  they  was  or 
wasn't." 

He  arose  and  let  up  the  window-shades;  the  level 


THE   BLOODSUCKER  399 

rays  of  the  sunshine  illuminated  his  figure  and  bur- 
nished his  purpling  coat.  He  shook  his  finger  at  Mr. 
Payson,  who  was  listening  open-mouthed,  impressed 
with  the  glib  argument. 

"Now,  my  control  is  Theodore  Parker.  You've 
heard  of  him — p'raps  you  knew  him.  You  wouldn't 
hesitate  to  ask  his  advice  if  he  was  still  on  the  flesh 
plane,  for  he  was  a  brainy  man;  how  much  more, 
now  he's  passed  out  and  gone  beyond,  into  a  fuller 
development  and  comprehension  of  the  universe!  I 
don't  know  what  your  subject  is,  but  whatever  it  is, 
he  can  help  and  he  will  help.  I'm  sure  o'  that.  It's 
for  you  to  say  whether  you'll  avail  yourself  of  his 
guidance  or  not.  I  can  give  you  all  the  tests  you 
want,  but  I  tell  you,  you're  only  wastin'  your  time, 
while  you  might  be  in  daily  communication  with  one" 
of  the  grandest  minds  this  country  and  this  century 
has  produced.  I  can  get  into  communication  with  him 
and  give  you  his  messages  by  means  of  automatic 
writin',  or  I  can  develop  you  so's  you  can  do  it 
yourself." 

Professor  Vixley's  victim  had  ceased  to  struggle, 
and,  caught  inextricably  in  the  web  so  artfully  woven, 
gazed,  fascinated,  into  the  eyes  of  the  spider  who 
was  preparing  to  suck  his  golden  blood. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE     FORE-HONEYMOON 

Outward,  across  the  narrow,  mile-long  mole,  the 
Oakland  Local,  a  train  of  twelve  coaches,  swept  on 
from  block  to  block,  beckoned  by  semaphores,  till 
it  threw  itself  with  a  roar  into  the  great  train-shed 
upon  the  Oakland  pier.  The  locomotive  stopped, 
throbbing  and  panting  rhythmically,  spouting  a  cloud 
of  steam  that  eddied  among  the  iron  trusses  of  the 
roof.  The  air-brakes  settled  back  with  a  long,  relieved 
hiss.  The  cars  emptied  streams  of  passengers;  the 
ferry-station  became  as  populous  and  busy  as  a  dis- 
turbed ant-hill.  Up  the  broad  stairs  and  into  the  huge 
waiting-room  the  commuters  poured,  there  to  await 
the  boat. 

It  was  half-past  nine  in  the  morning.  The  earlier 
trains,  laden  with  clerks  and  stenographers  and  the 
masses  of  early  workers,  had  already  relieved  the 
traffic  across  the  bay.  The  present  contingent  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  the  more  well-to-do  business  men, 
ladies  bent  on  shopping  in  the  city,  and  a  scattering  of 
sorts.  Some  clustered  in  a  dense  group  by  the  door 
of  the  gangway,  the  better  to  rush  on  board  and 
capture  the  favorite  seats;  the  rest  took  to  the  settees 
and  unfolded  their  morning  papers,  conversed,  or 
watched  the  gathering  throng. 

The  Overland  from  Chicago  was  already  in,  two 
hours  late,  and  it  had  contributed  to  the  assembly  its 
delegation  of  dusty,  tired  tourists,  laden  with  baggage, 

400 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  401 

commercial  travelers,  curious  and  bold,  with  a  few 
emigrants  in  outlandish  costumes,  prolific  in  children 
and  impedimenta.  Another  roar,  and  the  Alameda 
Local  thundered  into  the  shed  and  emptied  its  lesser 
load.  The  Berkeley  train  had  arrived  also,  and  the 
waiting-room  was  now  well  filled. 

Through  the  glazed  front  of  the  hall  the  steamer 
Piedmont  came  into  view,  entering  the  slip.  It  slid 
in  quietly  and  was  deftly  tied  up.  The  gang-plank 
was  lowered  and  its  passengers  disembarked,  filing 
through  a  passageway  separated  from  the  waiting 
throng  by  a  fence.  Then  the  heavy  door  slipped  up- 
ward, the  crowd  made  for  the  entrance  and  passed 
on  board  the  boat.  As  each  party  stepped  off  the 
gang-plank  some  one  would  say,  "Do  you  want  to  sit 
outside  or  inside?"  The  continual  repetition  of  this 
question  kept  the  after  part  of  the  deck  echoing  with 
the  murmur. 

Clytie  Payson,  finding  all  the  best  outside  seats 
occupied,  went  into  the  great  open  cabin  and  sat 
down.  The  saloon  soon  filled.  In  a  moment  there 
was  the  creaking  of  the  gang-plank  drawbridge,  a 
deep,  hoarse  whistle  overhead,  the  jangle  of  a  bell  in 
the  engine  room,  and  the  boat  started,  gathered  way, 
and  shot  out  into  the  bay.  An  Italian  band  started 
playing. 

It  was  not  long  before  her  eyes,  roving  from  one 
to  another  passenger,  rested  upon  a  couple  across  the 
way.  Both  looked  jaded  and  distrait.  They  talked 
but  little.  The  lady  was  crisp  and  fresh  and  glossy, 
in  her  blue  serge  suit  and  smart  hat;  her  form  was 
molded  almost  sumptuously — but  there  were  soft, 
violet  circles  beneath  her  roaming  eyes.  She  leaned 


402  THE    HEART    LINE 

back  in  her  seat;  her  attitude  had  lost,  in  its 
California  tendency  to  abandon,  an  imperceptible 
something  of  that  erect,  well-held  poise  that  such  cor- 
set-modeled, white-gloved  creatures  of  fashion  usually 
maintain.  Clytie  recognized  her;  it  was  Mrs.  Page. 

The  young  man  Clytie  did  not  know.  He  was  a 
dapper,  immaculate,  pink-cheeked  person,  who  leaned 
slightly  nearer  his  companion  than  custom  sanctions 
when  he  spoke  an  occasional  playful  word  to  her.  In 
his  gestures  he  often  touched  her  arm,  where,  for  a 
second  his  gloved  hand  seemed  to  linger  affectionately. 
Mrs.  Page  gave  him  in  return  a  flashing,  ardent  smile, 
then  her  eyes  wandered  listlessly. 

Before  Mrs.  Page  had  a  chance  to  notice  her,  Clytie 
arose  and  walked  forward.  Just  outside  the  door  she 
stopped  upon  the  wind-swept  deck  for  a  moment  to 
look  about  her.  Above  Goat  Island,  melting  into  the 
perfect  bow  of  its  profile,  lay  the  crest  of  Tamalpais. 
The  mountains  surrounding  the  bay  of  San  Francisco 
were  wild  and  terrible,  with  naked  brown  slopes  void 
of  trees  or  grass.  To  the  northwest  they  came  down 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  water,  tumbling  precipitately, 
seamed  with  gulleys,  forming  the  wall  of  the  Golden 
Gate.  Southward  was  smoke  and  haze;  forward  the 
peninsula  loomed  through  murk.  The  whole  aspect 
of  the  harbor  was  barren,  chill,  desolate.  One  felt 
that  one  was  thousands  of  miles  from  civilization — 
in  a  land  unique,  grim,  isolate,  sufficient  unto  itself, 
shut  off  by  sea  and  mountain  from  the  great  world. 
Yet  it  had  its  own  strange  beauty,  and  that  charm 
which,  once  felt,  endures  for  ever,  the  immortal  lure 
of  bigness,  wideness,  freedom  of  air  and  sky  and 
water. 


%. 


\ 


It  was  a  poor  tired  Majesty 


Page  403 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  403 

Clytie  stood,  holding  her  hat  against  the  nimble 
breeze  for  a  while,  gazing  at  a  flock  of  gulls  that 
sailed  alongside  the  boat,  circling  and  screaming,  then 
she  turned  and  moved  to  the  right  and  walked  aft. 

There  was  a  young  woman  sitting  in  an  angle  of 
the  seats,  by  the  paddle-box.  Her  arm  was  resting  on 
the  rail  and  she  was  gazing  down  at  the  swirling  rush 
of  water.  From  her  chic  shepherd's  plaid  frock,  so 
cunningly  trimmed  with  red,  so  perfectly  moulding 
her  svelte  form,  it  should  have  been  Fancy  Gray, 
Queen  of  Piedra  Pinta.  But  it  was  a  poor,  tired 
Majesty,  whose  face  was  filled  with  infinite  longing, 
whose  traitor  mouth  was  lax,  whose  head,  bent  side- 
wise,  seemed  too  heavy  to  be  held  in  its  whilom  spirited 
pose.  She  was  off  her  guard;  she  had  dropped  the 
mask  she  was  learning  so  painfully  to  bear. 

Clytie  stepped  in  front  of  her.  Fancy  suddenly 
looked  up.  There  was  a  moment  when  her  face  was 
like  that  of  a  child  awakened  from  sleep,  then,  in  a 
flash  Fancy  was  alive  again.  First,  confusion,  then 
a  look  of  pain,  lastly  an  expectant,  almost  a  suspicious 
expression  passed  over  her  face. 

"Why,  Miss  Payson !"  Fancy  sat  erect,  and,  by  her 
tone,  was  immediately  upon  the  defensive,  waiting  to 
find  out  what  her  welcome  might  be.  "Won't  you 
sit  down?" 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Gray!"  Clytie's  voice  was 
low  and  sympathetic. 

Fancy  took  the  proffered  hand,  grasped  it  for  a 
brief  moment  and  let  it  drop.  Then  she  waited  for 
Clytie  to  give  her  her  cue.  The  eyes  of  the  two 
women,  having  met,  lingered  without  conflict.  The 
serenity  in  Clytie's  face  melted  Fancy's  into  a  smile. 


404  THE    HEART   LINE 

A  faint  glow  of  pink  began  to  creep  up  Clytie's  neck 
and  mantle  her  cheek.  She  took  a  seat. 

"I'm  so  glad  I  found  you,"  she  began.  "I  had  a 
queer  feeling  that  I  should  meet  some  one  pleasant, 
though  I  didn't  know  who  it  would  be." 

What  was  it  that  reassured  Fancy?  No  man  could 
have  told.  But  that  whatever  fears  she  had  entertained 
were  dispelled  was  evident  by  the  way  her  face 
softened,  by  the  way  her  dimples  came,  by  the  way  a 
saucy,  amiable  sprite  looked  from  her  eyes. 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  just  out  of  blushes,"  she  said,  rally- 
ing swiftly,  "but  I'm  as  delighted  as  if  I  had  as  pretty 
a  one  as  yours.  Did  you  really  want  to  see  me  ?" 

"I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  for  some  time." 

"Why?" 

"I've  been  thinking  about  you." 

"Think  of  your  wasting  your  time  on  me!  Why, 
any  one  with  your  brains  could  think  me  to  a  finish  in 
five  minutes." 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  something." 

"I  hope  it's  something  sacred,"  said  Fancy  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eyes.  "I  love  to  have  people  tell  me 
their  most  sacred  thoughts."  She  smiled  like  a 
spoiled  child. 

This  was  too  much  for  Clytie,  who  laughed  aloud. 
But  she  persisted.  "I  hope  you  won't  think  I'm  try- 
ing to  patronize  you — " 

"You  look  awfully  pretty  when  you're  patronizing; 
I  don't  mind  it  a  bit." 

"I'm  afraid  it's  no  use,  you're  incorrigible." 

"That's  a  dandy  word.  I  never  thought  of  that. 
May  I  use  it?" 

"Will  you  be  serious?"    , 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  405 

"You  mustn't  mind  me,"  Fancy  said.  "I  never  could 
do  that  running  throb  in  my  voice.  I've  lost  lots  of 
things  by  not  being  able  to  cry  to  order.  But  I'll 
listen.  What  is  it?" 

"I  know  you've  left  Mr.  Granthope's  office." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  got  tired  of  the  routine  there.  It's 
awful  to  sit  and  watch  women  who  come  to  hear 
themselves  talked  about.  It  got  on  my  nerves.  So  I 
told  Frank  I'd  have  to  quit  or  tell  them  the  straight 
truth  about  themselves." 

Clytie  looked  at  her  curiously  for  a  moment.  Fancy 
turned  away  from  her  glance.  Clytie  went  on:  "I 
wanted  to  see  if  I  couldn't  get  you  a  position — perhaps 
with  my  father." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  guess  not."  Fancy  cast  her  eyes 
down.  "I  don't  care  to  go  to  work  just  yet — I'm 
going  to  drift  a  while — it's  awfully  kind  of  you, 
though." 

"Can't  you  come  and  stay  with  me  a  while?  I 
thought  I  might  teach  you  bookbinding  and  we  could 
work  together."  Clytie  herself  was  getting  somewhat 
embarrassed. 

Fancy  shook  her  head.  "Sometime  I'll  come  and 
see  you — but  not  now." 

"Well,  since  Mr.  Granthope  has  given  up  his  busi- 
ness—" 

Fancy  changed  in  an  instant;  her  frivolous  manner 
fell  off.  She  stared  at  Clytie  in  surprise. 

"Oh!    I  didn't  know  that    //as-he?" 

"Yes,  he  stopped  last  week." 

Fancy's  gaze  drifted  off  to  seaward.  She  was 
fighting  something  mentally.  She  turned  her  head 
away  also.  Finally  she  said,  "I  think  I .  understand." 


406  THE   HEART   LINE 

"I  think  not,  quite/'  Clytie  answered  softly. 

Fancy's  eyes  flashed  back  at  her,  brimming.  "He 
gave  it  up  on  account  of  you,  Miss  Payson,  I'm  sure." 

"He  did,  in  a  way,  but  it  was  not  altogether  my 
doing." 

"I  know!"  Fancy  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand 
wearily.  "You  did  for  him  what  I  never  could  do." 

"I'm  glad  you  wanted  it."  Clytie  touched  Fancy's 
hand,  as  it  lay  limp  in  her  lap. 

Instead  of  taking  it,  Fancy  moved  hers  gently  away. 
Then  she  roused  herself.  "Oh,  I  am  glad!  I'm  so 
glad,  Miss  Payson!  He  was  too  good  for  that — I  al- 
ways told  him  so.  But  you  are  the  only  woman  who 
could  have  done  that  for  him!" 

"Indeed,  you  mustn't  think  that  I  did  it.  He  did 
it  for  himself." 

Fancy  smiled  wistfully.  "I  know  Frank  Grant- 
hope.  And  I  know  the  sort  of  women  he  knew.  I 
was  one  of  them.  And  I  could  do  nothing — nothing 
to  help  him !" 

"Ah,  I  don't  believe  it !  You  have  helped  him,  I'm 
sure.  I  know  by  the  way  you  speak  now." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  think!"  Fancy  retorted 
impetuously.  "You  think  that  I  am — that  I  was — in 
love  with  him.  That's  not  true,  Miss  Payson,  really 
it  isn't.  I  never  was.  We  were  good  friends,  that's 
all.  I'm  not  suffering  from  a  broken  heart  or  pining 
away,  or  anything  like  that.  No  secret  sorrow  for 
mine!  But  what's  the  use  of  trying  to  explain!  It 
never  does  any  good.  I'm  glad  he's  found  a  woman 
who's  square  and  who's  a  thoroughbred  like  you ! 
Why,  Miss  Payson,  you  can  make  him !  I  saw  that 
long  ago !" 


THE   FORE-HONEYMOON  407 

She  spoke  in  a  hurried  frenzy  of  denial.  She 
seemed  to  feel  the  inadequacy  of  it  in  Clyde's  eyes, 
however,  and  nerved  herself  again. 

''You  don't  believe  it,  Miss  Payson,  but  it's  true! 
I  give  you  my  word  that  he's  perfectly  free.  Of 
course,  there  was  a  sort  of  flirtation  at  first,  there 
always  is,  you  know,  but  I  wasn't  in  earnest  at  all! 
Tin  too  afraid  of  Frank — I'm  not  in  his  class.  And 
I  know  he's  in  love  with  you — I  saw  it  from  the  first." 

"How  could  he  ever  help  loving  such  a  frank, 
courageous,  irresistible  girl  as  you !"  Clytie  wondered. 

"Miss  Payson,"  Fancy  said,  avoiding  her  eyes, 
"there's  a  man  I'm  simply  crazy  about — I  wish  I 
could  tell  you  more,  but  I  can't  explain.  I  never  ex- 
plain. But  you  can  be  sure  that  there's  nothing  doing 
with  Frank,  at  any  rate.  I  didn't  intend  to  breathe 
it  to  a  soul,  but  I  know  I  can  trust  you — I'm  really — " 
she  drew  a  quick  breath  and  her  eyelids  fluttered — • 
"I'm — engaged,  Miss  Payson!" 

Clytie  was  wearing,  that  day,  a  little  gold  chain 
from  which  hung  a  tiny  swastika.  As  she  listened, 
she  unfastened  it  and  took  it  off  and  threw  it  about 
Fancy's  neck.  Fancy  stopped  in  surprise. 

"Won't  you  let  me  give  you  this?"  Clytie  said 
eagerly.  "Don't  ask  me  why — I  want  you  to  have  it 
and  keep  it  for  my  sake.  You  know  I  have  more 
jewelry  than  I  can  wear,  but  I  have  always  been  very 
fond  of  this  little  chain.  It  belonged  to  my  mother." 

Fancy's  eyes  filled  suddenly  and  her  lips  parted. 
Her  hand  flew  up  to  caress  the  chain  affectionately. 
Then  she  cast  down  her  eyes  and  a  timid  smile 
trembled  on  her  lips. 

"I  accept!"  said  Fancy  Gray. 


4o8  THE   HEART   LINE 

As  she  looked  off  at  the  water  she  lifted  the 
chain  softly  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  Then,  loosening 
the  collar  of  her  waist,  she  allowed  the  chain  to  drop 
inside  to  hang  touching  her  warm  pink  breast. 

Then  slowly  she  turned  her  head  and  showed  Clytie 
a  new  expression,  childlike,  demure,  embarrassed. 
Her  eyes,  fluttering,  went  from  Clytie's  eyes  to  Clytie's 
hair,  to  her  slender,  gracile  hands.  Then,  with  a 
wistful  emphasis,  she  said: 

"Miss  Payson,  do  you  think  I'm  pretty?" 

There  was  no  need,  this  time,  for  her  to  define 
the  adjective. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  exactly?"  Clytie  an- 
swered. "I  never  saw  a  woman  yet  to  whom  I 
couldn't  tell  her  best  points  better  than  she  could  her- 
self." 

Fancy  nestled  a  little  nearer,  warming  herself  at 
Clytie's  smile.  "I  guess  I  can  stand  it.  I'll  try  to  be 
brave,"  she  said. 

Clytie  looked  her  over  critically. 

"First,  I'd  say  that  your  ears  are  the  most  deli- 
ciously  shaped,  cream-white,  and  the  lobes  are  pure 
pink  with  a  dab  of  carmine  laid  on  as  if  with  a  brush. 
The  hair  behind  them  has  curls  like  little  claws  clutch- 
ing at  your  neck — and  I  don't  blame  them !  Your 
cheeks  look  as  if  a  rose-leaf  had  just  been  pressed 
against  them." 

"I  believe  I'm  going  to  get  the  truth  at  last,"  Fancy 
murmured.  "Oh,  it  takes  a  woman,  don't  it!"  In 
spite  of  this  jaunty  speech  the  pink  had  grown  to 
scarlet  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  turned  her  eyes  away  in 
a  delighted,  flattered  embarrassment. 

"Then,  your  mouth  has  a  charming  little  dent  at  each 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  409 

corner,  and  your  lips  curve  in  a  perfect  bow,  and 
the  nick  above  is  just  deep  and  strong  enough  for  a 
baby  to  want  to  put  his  little  finger  into.  Your  nose 
is  fine  and  straight  and  delicate — I  can  see  the  light 
through  the  bridge  of  it,  the  skin  is  so  transparent — • 
like  mother-o'-pearl.  Your  eyes  are  clear  and  child- 
like and  the  rarest,  deepest,  pellucid  brown.  There's 
a  moist  purple  shadow  above  them,  and  a  warmer 
brown  tone  below.  Your  lids  crinkle  and  narrow  your 
eyes  like  a  kitten's.  Your  hands  are  as  dewy-delicate 
as  flowers — white  above,  faint  rose  in  the  palm, 
deepening  almost  to  strawberry  in  the  finger-tips." 

Fancy  had  laid  her  head  on  her  arm,  upon  the  rail- 
ing. When  she  at  last  lifted  her  eyes  the  tears  trickled 
comically  down  her  cheeks.  "That's  the  first  time  a 
woman  ever  feazed  me !"  she  said,  snuffing,  and  feeling 
for  her  handkerchief.  "I'll  have  to  appoint  you 
Court  Flatterer!"  She  explained  the  sovereignty  that 
she  enjoyed  amongst  the  Pintos.  Clytie,  amused,  ac- 
cepted the  distinction  conferred  upon  her. 

Their  talk  ran  on  till  the  boat  passed  under  the  lee 
of  Goat  Island.  It  rose,  a  bare,  bleak  slope  of  hill- 
side on  the  starboard  side.  Fancy  watched  the  waters 
curdling  below. 

"Ugh!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  looks  cold,  don't  it! 
I'd  hate  to  be  down  there ;  it's  so  wet.  Isn't  it  funny 
that  suicides  always  jump  overboard  right  opposite 
Goat  Island?  There  seems  to  be  some  fascination 
about  this  place.  And  the  bodies  are  never  found. 
I  suppose  they  drift  out  through  the  Gate.  The  tide 
runs  awfully  strong  here,  they  say." 

She  removed  her  gaze  with  an  effort,  adding,  "I 
hate  to  think  of  it !  Let's  come  forward." 


410  THE   HEART   LINE 

They  rose  and  went  to  the  space  of  deck  below 
the  pilot-house  and  stood  by  the  rail.  Already  the 
tourists  and  emigrants  were  there,  eager  for  a  first 
glimpse  of  the  city.  San  Francisco  stretched  before 
them,  a  long,  pearl-gray  peninsula,  its  profile  undu- 
lating in  a  continuous  series  of  hills.  Along  the  water- 
front was  a  melee  of  shipping;  behind,  the  houses 
rose  to  the  heaving,  irregular  sky-line  where  the  blue 
was  deep  and  cloudless.  The  streets  showed  as 
gashes,  blocking  the  town  off  into  parallel  divisions. 
A  few  tall  towers  broke  the  monotony  of  the  huddled, 
colorless  buildings.  They  passed  a  ferry-boat  bound 
for  Oakland,  and  a  foreign  man-of-war  lying  at 
anchor,  nosed  by  busy  launches.  The  Piedmont  rang 
down  to  half-speed,  then  the  vibrations  of  the  paddle 
wheels  stopped  as  she  shot  into  the  slip.  There  was  a 
surge  of  back-water,  a  rattling  of  chains  and  ratchets, 
the  cables  were  fastened  and  the  apron  lowered. 
The  crowd  surged  forward  and  poured  off  the  boat. 
At  the  front  of  the  Ferry  Building  Fancy  stopped, 
offering  her  hand. 

"Good-by,"  she  said  genially.  "You've  done  me 
more  good  than  a  Picon  punch.  I'm  going  home  to 
wear  my  looking-glass  out." 

"You'll  never  see  half  I  do,"  Clytie  replied,  shaking 
her  head. 

"That's  because  I  haven't  got  such  fine  eyes,"  coun- 
tered Fancy. 

"I  think  mine  are  never  so  pretty  as  when  they 
have  a  little  image  of  you  in  them." 

Fancy  gave  up  the  duel.  "Well,  I  guess  I'd  better 
go  quick  before  you  raise  that !  You  play  nothing  but 
blue  chips,  and  I  can't  keep  up !" 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  411 

Clyde  walked  up  Market  Street  alone.  She  turned 
into  Geary  Street  at  the  group  of  tall  newspaper 
buildings  by  Lotta's  fountain,  and  in  ten  minutes  was 
knocking  at  Granthope's  office  door.  There  being  no 
response  she  descended  the  stairs,  crossed  the  street 
and  went  into  the  square  to  wait  for  him  upon  a  bench 
beside  the  soldiers'  monument. 

There  were  two  young  women  at  the  other  end 
of  the  seat.  One,  scarcely  more  than  a  girl,  was 
pretty,  in  a  demure,  timid  way;  she  was  freckled  and 
tanned,  her  clothes  were  simple  and  neat.  The  other 
was  of  a  coarser  grain,  full-lipped,  large-handed, 
painted  and  powdered,  with  hard  eyes  and  large  fea- 
tures. She  wore  several  cheap  rings,  and  her  finery 
made  her  soiled  and  wrinkled  garments  look  still  more 
vulgar.  Clytie  gave  the  two  a  glance  and  took  no 
further  interest  in  them  until  she  caught  the  mention 
of  Granthope's  name. 

She  turned,  astonished,  to  see  the  younger  woman 
looking  seriously  at  the  other.  There  was  a  charming 
earnestness  in  her  face,  and,  though  her  lower  lip 
drooped  tremulously,  it  was  not  weak;  nor  was  her 
chin,  nor  her  nose,  nor  the  gracefully  reliant  poise 
of  her  head. 

"You  ought  to  go  see  him,  Kate!"  she  was  saying. 
"I  tell  you  he's  a  wonder!  Why,  if  I  hadn't  gone 
there  I  don't  know  where  I'd  be  now.  I  know  one 
thing,  I  wouldn't  be  married.  Why,  when  Bill  was  out 
in  the  Philippines  and  didn't  write,  I  thought  I'd  lay 
down  and  die !  I  waited  about  two  months,  and  then 
I  took  five  dollars  I  saved  up  for  one  of  them  automo- 
bile coats  they  was  all  wearing,  and  I  went  to  see 
Granthope.  What  d'you  think? — he  wouldn't  take  a. 


412  THE   HEART   LINE 

cent  off  me !  That's  the  kind  of  a  man  Granthope  is ! 
He  said  it  would  be  all  right  and  Bill  would  come 
back  and  marry  me.  But  I  tell  you,  I  had  to  do  most 
of  the  courting!" 

"You  did,  did  you?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
run  after  a  man  like  that — without  any  nose?  I  never 
see  such  a  face  in  my  life!  If  he'd  only  wear  a 
patch  or  something  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad,"  commented 
her  companion. 

"Bill  wouldn't  do  it;  he's  too  proud.  Nobody's 
ashamed  of  having  only  one  leg  or  one  arm,  why 
should  they  be  of  having  a  nose  gone?" 

"What  did  you  think  when  you  first  see  him, 
though?  Wan't  it  disgusting,  kind  of?"  her  com- 
panion asked,  making  a  sour  face. 

"Why,  I  was  so  proud  of  him  that  I  didn't  see 
anything  but  a  man  who  loved  me  and  who  had 
fought  for  his  country !  But  it  was  some  time  before 
I  did  see  him,  though.  He  did  his  best  not  to  let  me." 

"How  did  you  ever  find  him?" 

"Why,  finally  Mr.  Granthope  located  Bill  down  at 
Santa  Barbara.  He  was  working  as  a  gardener  on  a 
place  a  little  ways  out  of  town.  Bill's  captain  give  me 
the  money  to  get  down  there.  I  guess  I  cried  pretty 
near  all  the  way,  thinking  of  Bill  hiding  out  like  a 
yellow  dog  without  any  friends.  Finally  I  found  the 
place.  Bill  was  living  up  in  a  room  over  the  stable." 

She  paused.  "Go  on!"  said  her  companion.  The 
woman's  voice  had  changed  somewhat.  There  was 
something  more  than  curiosity  in  its  tone.  Fleurette 
was  looking  down,  now,  fingering  her  jacket.  Sud- 
denly she  began  to  breathe  heavily. 

"Bill  had  a  little  dog  named  Dot.    A  fox  terrier,  it 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  413 

was.  Bill  says  he  thought  it  was  the  only  living 
thing  that  didn't  despise  him  on  account  of  his  looks. 
He  was  awful  fond  of  Dot.  So  was  I,  you  bet. 
Dot's  dead,  now."  She  put  a  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes. 

"Well,  I  was  dead  tired.  I'd  walked  all  the  way 
from  the  station.  I  was  pretty  hungry,  too.  I  couldn't 
afford  to  get  dinner  on  the  train,  and  I  couldn't  wait 
to  stop  to  eat  in  Santa  Barbara.  And  I  was  good  and 
trembly — because — well,  I  hadn't  seen  Bill  for  over 
a  year.  I  stumbled  up  the  stairs  and  knocked  on  the 
door,  and  when  Bill  heard  my  voice  he  wouldn't  let 
me  in.  I  heard  him  groan — O,  God !  it  almost  broke 
my  heart!  He  called  through  the  door  for  me  to  go 
away.  He  said  he  didn't  love  me  any  more.  Of 
course  I  knew  he  was  lying.  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do.  Bill's  got  an  awful  strong  will.  I  didn't  know 
how  to  make  him  believe  I  didn't  care  how  he  looked. 
I  just  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  begun  to  cry. 
Then  Dot  begun  to  whine  and  scratch  on  the  door. 
Bill  couldn't  stand  that.  He  swore  at  him  and  kicked 
him.  It  was  the  only  time  he  ever  struck  him,  but  Dot 
wouldn't  budge  and  kept  scratching  on  the  door.  It 
was  terrible.  So  Bill  wrapped  a  towel  round  his 
face  and  opened  the  door.  I  just  fell  in  his  arms. 
But  he  put  me  away  from  him  and  said  he  wouldn't 
curse  my  life,  and  that  I  must  go  away." 

The  other  girl  was  staring  at  her,  awed.  "What 
did  you  do?"  she  whispered. 

"Oh,  I  ran  up  to  him  again,  and  pulled  off  the 
towel  and  I  kissed  him."  She  spoke  almost  imper- 
sonally. 

Kate  kindled,  now.    "Oh,  Fleurette,  did  you  ?    Gee, 


414  THE   HEART   LINE 

you  were  game!"  She  giggled  somewhat  hysteri- 
cally. "Lucky  his  mouth  wasn't  shot  off,  wasn't  it?" 

Fleurette  gazed  off  across  the  green  and  spoke  as 
to  one  who  knew  not  of  life's  realities,  saying,  simply : 

"Oh,  I  didn't  kiss  him  on  the  mouth,  Kate — there 
was  plenty  of  time  for  that!  I  kissed  him  right 
where  that  Moro  bullet  had  wounded  him!" 

Kate  shook  her  head  slowly.  "I  guess  you  done 
right!"  she  said.  Then,  "Say,  I'd  like  to  see  Bill 
again,  Fleurette." 

Clytie  arose,  gave  the  girl  one  swift  glance  as 
she  left,  and  walked  away.  She  had  met  two  hero- 
ines that  day,  and  her  nerves  were  vibrating  like 
tense  strings.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  square, 
keeping  her  eyes  on  Granthope's  doorway. 

In  half  an  hour  she  saw  him  striding  up  Geary 
Street.  She  followed  him  rapidly,  ran  up  the  stairs 
and  knocked  again  at  his  door.  He  opened  it  and 
took  her  instantly  into  his  arms.  She  lay  there  with- 
out speaking,  and  there  was  a  blessed  interval  of 
silence  after  his  kiss. 

The  stimulating  newness  of  possession  thrilled  him. 
She  was  still  strange,  mysterious,  of  a  different  caste, 
and  there  was  something  deliriously  fearful  in  this 
familiarity  as  she  lay  captive,  unresisting,  trembling 
in  his  embrace.  He  had  set  his  trap  for  a  sparrow 
and  caught  a  bird  of  paradise.  He  knew  his  power 
over  her,  now,  though  he  dared  not  test  it.  He 
dreaded  to  break  the  spell  of  her  wonderful  conde- 
scension, her  royal  grace  and  favor.  He  was  in  no 
hurry  to  remove  her  crown  and  scepter;  the  piquancy 
of  his  romance  fascinated  him. 

She  broke  away  from  him  with  a  gentle  insistence, 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  415 

and  looked  at  him,  rosy  and  smiling.  "I'm  afraid 
I'm  just  like  all  other  women,  after  all — and  I'm  glad 
of  it!"  she  confessed,  as  she  readjusted  her  hat  and 
sank  into  the  arm-chair  to  look  up  at  him  fondly. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  realize  how  strange  it  seems 
for  me  to  act  this  way?"  she  said.  "No  man  has  ever 
held  me  in  his  arms  before.  I  have  never  thought 
of  the  possibility  of  it — even  with  you.  All  that 
sort  of  demonstration  has  been  inhibited — I  have 
always  wondered  if  I  had  any  passion  in  me.  Of 
course,  when  I  kissed  you  the  other  time  it  was 
different — it  was  the  seal  of  a  compact.  But  this 
time  it  seemed  so  natural  that  I  didn't  think.  This 
is  the  end  of  my  virginal  serenity  for  ever.  I  think 
you  have  awakened  me  at  last!" 

She  broke  into  happy  laughter.  "Did  I  do  it  well, 
dear?  I'm  ashamed  to  think  how  inexperienced  I 
am — and  you  have  known  so  many  cleverer  women. 
If  you  call  me  amateurish,  I'll  slay  you !  But  I  think 
I  shall  be  an  apt  pupil,  though.  Francis,  stop  laugh- 
ing at  me,  or  I'll  go  home !" 

Her  naivete  was  breaking  up  that  glorified  seraphic 
vision  he  had  held  of  her  and  put  her  more  nearly 
on  his  level,  or,  perhaps,  raised  him  to  her.  He  let 
his  wonder  fade  slowly.  However,  with  all  his  cus- 
tomary audacity  he  could  not  yet  match  her  mood. 
She  saw  his  reserve  and  took  a  woman's  delight 
in  wooing  him. 

"Must  I  convince  you  that  I  am  flesh  and  blood?" 
she  exclaimed  with  spirit.  "And  you — the  lady-killer 
— the  hero  of  a  hundred  victories — you  don't  seem 
to  know  that  you  have  me  at  your  feet!  Nor  how 
proud  I  am  of  it!" 


416  THE   HEART   LINE 

Then  she  jumped  up  and  took  his  hands  in  hers 
softly.  "You  must  be  very  good  to  me,  Francis,  dear, 
for  I'm  simple  and  ignorant  compared  to  the  women 
you've  known,  I  suppose.  But  I'm  a  woman,  after 
all.  I  don't  want  to  be  worshiped.  I  want  the  ten- 
derness of  an  honest  man's  love,  such  as  other  women 
have.  I  want  my  divine  birthright.  I've  been  aloof 
from  men  all  my  life.  That  doesn't  make  me 
any  less  desirable,  does  it?  I've  never  met  a  man 
who  answered  my  demands.  You  do,  or  you  will 
before  I'm  through  with  you.  Don't  think  I'm  going 
to  be  all  moonshine  and  vapors.  I'm  going  to  love 
you  till  stars  dance  in  the  heavens!  That's  what  you 
get  for  wakening  me,  my  friend !  I've  been  asleep, 
floating  in  dreams.  I  want  a  man's  strength  and 
chivalry  and  audacity  and  vigor  and  romance,  instead 
of  the  painted  shadows  I've  known.  Aren't  you 
afraid  of  me  ?"  She  dropped  her  head  to  his  shoulder. 

He  needed  no  further  hint.  He  put  away  her  halo 
and  her  crown,  he  drew  the  ermine  from  her,  and 
the  vision  in  her  eyes  was  made  manifest.  But  it 
was  still  too  new  for  her  to  more  than  sip  at  the 
cup  of  delight;  she  would  take  her  happiness  by  epi- 
curean inches.  So  she  slid  away  and  evaded  him, 
putting  the  chair  half-mockingly  between  them. 

"My  father  has  forbidden  me  to  come  down  here 
to  see  you,"  she  said.  "It's  really  quite  romantic. 
But  of  course  I  told  him  I  should  come,  nevertheless, 
so  we  can't  quite  call  it  clandestine.  He'll  never 
dare  ask  me  if  I've  been  here.  He's  quite  afraid 
of  me,  when  I  insist  upon  having  my  own  way." 

"Have  you  said  anything  about  Madam  Spoil  and 
Vixley  to  him?" 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  417 

"Yes,  but  that's  no  use.  They  certainly  seem  to 
have  given  him  some  wonderful  tests — I  don't  see 
how  they  could  have  done  so  well — and  he's  abso- 
lutely convinced.  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do,  unless 
we  wait  for  them  to  go  too  far  and  arouse  his  sus- 
picions. I  can't  think  he's  feeble-minded.  They're 
making  him  pay,  though  that's  the  least  of  the  matter." 

"I  have  had  an  idea  that  I  might  get  hold  of  one 
of  the  gang — a  Doctor  Masterson — and  induce  him 
to  sell  them  out.  He's  a  turncoat,  and  if  he  only 
knows  enough  about  their  game  he  could  be  bribed." 

"I  must  leave  it  to  you,  Francis.  I  don't  like 
that  method,  exactly,  but  we  must  do  what  we  can. 
Perhaps  it  will  settle  itself.  We  can  do  nothing  yet, 
at  any  rate.  To-day  I've  come  down  to  ask  you  to 
invite  me  to  lunch,  please !" 

"With  pleasure — only,  if  I  must  confess — I  don't 
know  that  I  can  offer  you  a  very  good  one.  Wait — 
I'll  see  how  much  money  I  have  left."  He  felt  doubt- 
fully in  his  pocket,  and  added,  "Oh,  that's  all  right, 
we  can  go  to  the  Palace." 

Clytie  was  instantly  suspicious.  "How  much  have 
you?" 

"Quite  enough." 

"Answer  me,  sir!" 

"About  twelve  dollars." 

She  gasped.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that's  all  you 
have  left?" 

"Everything.  But  my  rent  is  paid  for  a  month  in 
advance." 

"Have  you  any  debts?" 

"Naturally.  Two  hundred  dollars  or  so,  that's 
all." 


4i8  THE   HEART   LINE 

She  came  up  to  him  and  worked  her  finger  into  his 
buttonhole.  "Francis  Granthope,"  she  said  solemnly, 
"are  you  really — ruined?"  Her  eyes  danced. 

"Oh,  I've  got  enough  junk  in  my  chamber  to  pay 
that  off,  I  expect,  but  it  won't  leave  me  exactly 
affluent." 

She  burst  into  a  delicious  chime  of  laughter.  "Why, 
it's  positively  melodramatic,  isn't  it?  I  never  hap- 
pened to  know  any  one  who  was  actually  bankrupt 
before.  Of  course  it  must  happen,  sometimes,  but 
somehow  I  thought  people  could  always  raise  some 
money,  even  if  they  had  to  scrimp.  How  exciting 
it  is — aren't  you  nervous  about  it?  Why,  I'd  be 
frightened  to  death !  And  yet  it  seems  terribly  amus- 
ing!" 

He  laughed  with  her.  "I  can't  seem  to  take  it 
very  seriously,  while  you're  with  me,  at  any  rate. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  haven't  begun  to  think  about 
it  yet.  Of  course  my  fees  have  always  been  in  cash, 
and  consequently  there's  nothing  coming  in.  And 
I've  always  spent  every  cent  I  made,  and  a  little  more. 
But  I've  been  broke  before,  and  it  doesn't  alarm  me, 
except  that,  of  course,  I  can't  depend  upon  living 
by  my  wits  in  quite  the  same  way  as  I  would  have, 
if  I  hadn't  chucked  that  sort  of  thing.  If  I  didn't 
care  how  I  did  it,  I  suppose  I  could  make  a  hundred 
or  so  a  week  easily  enough." 

She  listened  and  grew  more  serious.  "Of  course 
that's  all  over.  But  you've  got  to  have  money! 
Let's  see  what  I  have  with  me."  She  took  her  purse 
from  her  bag  and  emptied  it  upon  the  desk.  Several 
ten-  and  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces  rolled  out. 

Granthope  shook  his  head  sharply.     "No,  don't  do 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  419 

that,  please!  I  can't  take  anything,  even  as  a 
loan,  you  know.  I  can't  spend  a  cent  I  haven't 
honestly  earned — I  never  shall  again,  if  I  have  to 
starve,  which  I  don't  intend  to  do,  either.  You  must 
know  that." 

"But  from  me— isn't  that  different?" 

"Not  even  from  you !" 

"Of  course  you  mustn't.  I  see.  It's  better 
not  to,  yet  somehow  I  could  have  forgiven  you 
if  you  had  let  me  help  a  little  at  first.  I  don't 
exactly  see  how  you're  going  to  live.  Why,  it's 
awful,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  isn't  it?  It  really 
is  serious.  What  a  goose  I've  been!  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  worry  about  you  now.  Well,  you'll  have  to  have 
lunch  with  me  to-day,  anyway.  That's  only  fair,  if 
I  invite  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  I'm  going  to  invite  you  to  share 
my  humble  meal." 

"All  right;  let's  be  reckless  then,  if  you  must  be 
proud  and  show  off.  It  will  be  fun.  I  never  econo- 
mized in  my  life,  but  now  I'm  going  to  show  you 
how.  Hand  over  all  your  wealth,  please." 

She  counted  it  out  upon  the  desk,  a  five  dollar 
piece,  six  silver  dollars  and  two  halves  and  a  few 
nickels.  "Now,"  she  said,  "how  long  can  we  make 
this  last— a  week?" 

"I've  lived  for  three  weeks  on  that  much,  often, 
and  paid  for  my  room." 

"Something's  bound  to  happen  within  ten  days,  I'm 
sure!  If  you  see  nothing  ahead  at  the  end  of  a  week, 
I'll  put  you  on  half-rations,  and  till  then  I'll  allow 
you  a  dollar  a  day.  Shall  I  keep  it  for  you?" 

He  was  delighted  to  have  a  treasurer. 


420  THE   HEART    LINE 

"Now  we'll  take  fifty  cents  and  go  to  some  nice 
dairy  place  and  sit  on  a  stool." 

But,  as  he  insisted  upon  a  place  where  they  could 
talk  in  quiet,  they  went,  instead,  to  a  shady  little 
restaurant  around  the  corner,  and  there  they  seriously 
discussed  his  prospects. 

He  did  so  whimsically.  It  was  really  absurd  that 
he,  in  full  health,  six  feet  high  and  a  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  in  weight,  at  twenty-eight,  could  do 
nothing,  so  far  as  he  knew,  to  support  himself  hon- 
estly. He  had  been  a  parasite  upon  the  vanity  of  fools. 
After  much  casting  about  for  ideas,  she  sent  for  an 
Examiner  and  began  to  search  through  the  "Help 
Wanted;  Male"  column. 

The  Barber's  College  she  rejected  first,  although 
he  pointed  out  the  advantageous  fact  that  it  offered 
"wages  while  learning."  Canvassing  for  books  or 
watches  they  both  agreed  was  not  interesting  enough. 
Boot-black — he  raised  his  eyebrows  in  consideration, 
she  shook  her  head  energetically;  it  was  too  con- 
spicuous, with  these  open-air  sidewalk  stands.  She 
turned  up  her  nose,  also,  at  the  idea  of  his  distribut- 
ing circulars.  The  Marine  Corps  tempted  him  next 
— but  no,  she  couldn't  think  of  sparing  him  for  three 
years,  not  to  speak  of  a  girl  in  every  port.  She 
asked  him  what  a  job-press  feeder  was;  he  didn't 
know,  but  he  was  sure  he  couldn't  do  it — it  would  be 
all  he  could  do  to  feed  himself.  Profiler — if  he  could 
make  as  good  a  profile  as  Clytie's  now,  he  might 
get  that  job.  But  it  appeared  to  be  something  con- 
nected with  a  machine-shop.  He  looked  at  his  white 
hands  and  smiled.  Weavers,  warpers  and  winders — 
equally  mysterious  and  impossible.  The  rest  of  the 


THE   FORE-HONEYMOON  421 

wants  were  for  mechanics  and  tradesmen.  Clytie 
dropped  the  paper,  disappointed. 

He  declined  to  let  the  matter  disturb  him,  as  yet. 
He  had  no  fear  of  the  future,  and  the  present  was  too 
charming  not  to  be  enjoyed  to  the  full. 

"What  I've  always  wanted  to  do,"  he  said,  "is 
to  study  medicine.  If  I  could  get  money  enough 
ahead  to  put  myself  through  a  medical  school,  I 
wouldn't  mind  beginning  even  at  my  age.  I  think 
I'm  fitted  for  that,  for  I've  cultivated  my  powers 
of  observation  and  I  know  a  good  deal  about  human 
nature,  and  I've  read  everything  I  could  lay  my 
hands  on.  Some  day  I  shall  try  that." 

"Very  well,  Doctor  Granthope,  I  shall  make  up 
my  mind  to  being  a  doctor's  wife,  and  being  rung  up 
at  all  hours,  and  being  alone  half  the  time." 

"I  wasn't  aware  that  I  had  proposed  yet,"  he 
answered  jocosely. 

"Why,  people  don't  propose,  now,  do  they?  Not 
real  people.  What  a  Bromide  you  are!"  she  laughed 
joyously. 

"I'll  have  to  disprove  that.  Let's  spend  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon  out  of  doors  and  get  acquainted! 
Then  when  I  have  a  good  chance  I'll  ask  if  you'll 
be  my  wife.  Do  you  realize  how  little  we  know  of 
one  another?  It's  ridiculous.  Why,  you  may  have 
a  middle  name  for  all  I  know!  You  may  eat  sugar 
on  canteloupe  or  vinegar  on  your  oysters;  you  may 
be  an  extraordinary  mimic ;  you  may  have  escaped 
sudden  death;  you  may  have  been  engaged  when  you 
were  seventeen ;  you  may  sulk ;  you  may  mispronounce 
my  favorite  words !  How  do  I  know  but  you  like 
magenta  and  Germans  and  canary  birds,  and  wear 


422  THE   HEART   LINE 

Jaegers;  and  object  to  profanity  and  nicknames,  and 
say  Veil-read'  and  read  the  Philistine!" 

"Good  Lord,  deliver  us!  That's  a  devil's  lit- 
urgy!" In  denial  of  his  categories  she  held  him 
out  her  palm.  "Oh,  you  should  know  me  by  that 
right  hand !  You're  supposed  to  be  a  trained  observer 
of  symptoms  and  stigmata.  You're  the  one  who  needs 
investigation!  Do  you  realize  what  a  risk  I  am 
running?  Why,  I  haven't  yet  heard  you  speak  to  a 
dog,  or  answer  a  beggar,  or  seen  you  eat  a  banana, 
or  watch  a  vaudeville  show — and  all  four  are  neces- 
sary before  I  really  know  you." 

She  bent  her  head  in  mock  humility  and  looked  up 
at  him  from  beneath  her  golden  lashes.  "You  needn't 
be  afraid,  Francis;  if  you  tell  me  what  your  rules 
are,  I'll  obey  them.  If  you  really  want  me  to  wear 
magenta,  I  shall  be  terribly  fond  of  it,  and  I  shall 
only  think  I've  been  stupid  all  my  life  to  loathe  it, 
and  be  so  glad  to  learn.  But  I  hope  you  don't!" 

"If  you'll  allow  me  five  cents  for  dessert,"  he  said 
as  seriously,  "I'll  order  bananas,  at  the  risk  of  losing 
you  for  ever." 

They  had  begun  now  to  revel  in  the  piquancy  of 
the  situation.  Their  meetings  had,  up  to  this  time, 
seemed  fatal  in  their  dramatic  sequence,  fraught  with 
meaning,  working  steadily  up  to  the  climax  in  the 
studio.  There  had  been  few  scenes  between  them, 
but  those  scenes  had  been  cumulative  in  feeling. 
They  had  played  their  parts  like  actors  in  a  play  of 
destiny,  a  play  whose  plot  had  been  closely  knit  and 
esthetically  economical  in  incident  and  dialogue,  each 
act  developing  logically  the  previous  situation.  Now 
that  the  tension  was  released,  and  the  reaction  had 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  423 

come  after  an  histrionic  catastrophe,  each  looked  at 
the  other  with  new  eyes,  seeking  the  living  person 
under  the  tragic  mask. 

In  this  delightful  pursuit  they  came  upon  such  fan- 
tastic surprises,  such  rare  coincidences,  such  lovely 
similarities  of  whim  and  taste  and  prejudice,  and, 
above  all,  such  a  rare  harmony  in  their  points  of  view 
on  life,  that  their  talk  was  as  exciting  as  if  they 
had  just  met  for  the  first  time.  The  talk  ran  on, 
back  and  forth,  lively  with  continual  revelation.  It 
came  out,  not  in  dominating  trends  of  thought,  or 
principled  opinions,  but  in  many  charming  lesser 
exemplifications  of  their  mutual  fastidiousness.  She 
reached  for  a  plate,  and  his  hand  was  outstretched  to 
give  it  to  her  at  precisely  the  same  instant — their 
fingers  touched,  and  their  eyes  spoke  in  delighted  sur- 
prise. He  discovered  that  she,  like  himself,  took  no 
sugar  in  her  coffee,  and  on  that  consanguinity  of 
taste  an  imaginative  structure  arose,  to  be  destroyed 
with  equal  delight  when  he  found  that  she  was  resisting 
a  temptation  to  use  cream.  She  quoted  spontaneously 
a  line  from  Stevenson  that,  for  no  reason  whatever, 
he  had  always  loved:  "For  to  my  mind  one  thing 
is  as  good  as  another  in  this  world,  and  a  shoe 
of  a  horse  will  do."  She  knew  his  language,  he 
fulfilled  her  test.  Such  were  their  tiny  psychological 
romances  at  table. 

They  had  reversed  the  usual  order  of  progression  in 
their  friendship,  or  rather  Fate  had  reversed  it  for 
them.  Had  they  become  betrothed  in  the  ancient  man- 
ner without  previous  knowledge  of  one  another,  their 
position  could  have  been  no  more  alluring  and 
delicate,  for,  strangers  physically  and,  to  an  extent, 


424  THE    HEART   LINE 

mentally,  their  intimacy  of  spirit  was  as  certain  and  ir- 
revocable as  a  blood  relationship.  They  played  with  a 
series  of  little  embarrassments. 

To-day  they  had  changed  their  characteristic  parts ; 
he  was  timid,  as  he  had  never  been  timid  with  women. 
She  was  bold,  as  she  had  never  been  bold  with  men. 
The  primitive  woman  had  come  to  life  in  her.  They 
were,  however,  both  of  that  caste  which  can  notice, 
analyze  and  discuss  the  subtleties  of  such  a  condi- 
tion while  still  enjoying  it  to  the  full.  It  delighted 
them  to  glean  the  nuances  and  overtones  of  that 
harmony.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  Granthope  to  be 
with  one  who  understood  and  was  sensitive  to  the 
secondary  and  tertiary  thrills  of  delight  without  hav- 
ing become  hyper-refined  out  of  vibration  with  the 
primal  note  of  passion.  That  sharing  of  the  wonderful 
first  fruits  with  her,  mentally  as  well  as  physically  and 
spiritually,  kept  his  appetite  for  her  whetted  to  a 
keen  edge.  He  could  not  get  enough  of  her  from  sight 
or  hearing,  and  each  touch  of  her  hand  became  a 
perilously  exciting  event,  a  little  voyage  of  poetic 
adventure. 

They  were  both  learning  swiftly  the  art  of  loving, 
but,  though  one  goes  far  in  the  first  sensational  les- 
sons, one  can  not  go  all  the  way,  no  matter  how  reck- 
less is  the  attempt.  Passion  has  to  be  adjusted  to 
tenderness,  and  affection  to  experience,  or  there  is 
discord.  For  her,  perhaps,  that  love  held  more  of 
faery,  more  freshness  and  delicious  abandon,  more 
mystery,  for  her  nerves  had  never  been  dulled  by 
contact;  but  for  him  there  were  newer  and  truer 
wonders  as  well.  He  had  taken  another  degree  in 
sentiment,  and  the  initiation  was  as  marvelous  for 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  425 

him,  an  apprentice,  as  for  her,  a  neophyte.  And,  in 
that  sacred,  secret  lodge,  when  the  time  came,  she 
would  jump  in  a  single  intuitive  moment  to  his  level 
and  surpass  him. 

Already  she  was  tuned  to  the  emotional  pitch;  she 
would  notice  every  false  move,  every  mistake  in  his 
devotion,  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  with  him  past- 
master  in  the  rites  of  love.  She  could  already  teach 
him,  and  already  she  began  to  hold  him  back  sensi- 
tively, to  linger  over  every  transient  mood  of  feeling, 
every  minor  phase  which  women,  in  that  stage  between 
wooing  and  winning,  so  care  to  taste  to  the  last  sweet 
drop.  Every  reflex,  every  echo,  she  would  bid  him 
answer  to,  indefinitely  prolonging,  now  that  she  was 
sure  of  him,  the  fineness  of  the  reward  of  her  moment, 
delaying  the  definite  end.  He  had  taught  her  the 
rapture  of  a  caress — she  would  teach  him  the  excite- 
ment of  a  smile,  a  tone,  a  gesture. 

They  lingered  long  at  the  table  and  then  went 
forth  into  the  sun.  The  cable-car  carried  them,  still 
bantering,  to  the  gate  of  the  Presidio,  and  they  set 
out  rollicking  across  the  golf-links.  The  open  downs 
stretched  in  front  of  them  in  long,  sweeping  lines, 
like  the  ground  swells  of  the  sea,  skirted  to  the  north 
by  groves  of  cypress  and  eucalyptus  trees.  Beyond, 
to  the  west,  the  ground  grew  sandy  as  it  approached 
the  ocean,  and  from  that  direction  a  sea-breeze  sailed, 
salt  and  strong.  Behind  them  was  Lone  Mountain, 
with  its  huge  cross  on  top,  and  from  there  in  a  scat- 
tering quadrant  a  multitude  of  little  houses,  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city,  skirmished  towards  the  park.  The 
turf  was  hard  and  smooth  as  a  carpet,  burned,  here 
and  there,  in  patches  of  black,  but  elsewhere  of  a 


426  THE    HEART    LINE 

pastel  green,  colored  by  the  hardier  weeds  that  had 
sustained  the  drought  and  fought  their  way  through 
the  matted,  sunburned  stalks  of  dry  grass. 

Dipping  down  through  a  wide,  sandy  hollow,  tan- 
gled with  fuzzy  undergrowth,  they  climbed  up  again, 
making  for  a  shoulder  of  the  hill  where  the  road 
curved  sharply  round  the  summit.  They  were  alone 
in  the  world,  now;  no  one  was  in  sight,  at  least,  and 
the  glory  of  this  free  space  of  earth  and  air  brought 
them  as  near  to  one  another  as  if  they  had  regained 
childhood.  Clytie's  hat  was  off,  and  her  hair  wan- 
toned over  her  forehead  and  neck.  She  gave  him 
her  joyous  laughter  unrestrained,  and  he  listened  as 
to  a  song,  and  attempted  by  every  wile  he  knew  to 
provoke  it  again  and  again.  If  she  had  been  high- 
priestess  before,  now  she  was  pixie,  and  he  was,  at 
first,  almost  as  afraid  of  her  in  this  new  guise.  He 
explored  a  new  world  with  her,  as  Adam  did  with  Eve. 
As  Adam  did  with  Eve,  he  marveled  at  her. 

It  came  to  him,  as  they  walked,  that  what  had  kept 
them  apart,  mentally,  was  an  odd  lack  of  humor. 
He  saw  how  his  whole  life  had  been  a  pose  towards 
himself  as  well  as  towards  the  world,  repressing  what 
now,  the  costume  and  custom  gone,  would  come  forth 
bubbling  without  care.  He  had  kept  a  straight  face 
so  long!  What  mirth  he  had  felt,  in  presence  of  his 
dupes,  had  been  strained  fine,  escaping  in  the  corner 
of  a  smile,  while  he  fashioned  his  glib  phrases.  It 
had  been  a  preacher's  sobriety,  the  sedateness  of  priest- 
craft, aging  him  prematurely.  She  held  him  her  hands 
now  down  the  years,  back  to  decent,  cleanly  fun.  To 
his  surprise  he  found  that  he  could  give  full  vent  to 
it.  He  could  laugh  aloud,  and  need  not  study  effects 


I 


a 
~ 

i> 

E 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  427 

and  poses;  he  need  not  impress  her.  His  wit  was 
clumsy;  it  even  approached  silliness,  in  its  first  runa- 
way impulse,  but  he  at  least  lost  his  self-conscious- 
ness. He  followed  her  merriment,  and  they  discovered 
nonsense  together. 

So,  jollying,  they  tramped  up  to  the  road  and  came 
suddenly  upon  the  sea,  flaming,  peacock  blue,  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliff  which  fell  almost  vertically  at  their 
feet.  Across  the  dancing  waves,  from  a  coast  like 
Norway's,  Point  Bonita  arose,  guarding  the  Golden 
Gate.  At  the  end  of  a  semicircular  cove  to  their 
left  a  ragged  cliff  jutted  into  the  channel;  behind  its 
promontory  the  hills  rolled  back. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  joy  and  happiness  and  sat  down 
on  the  verge  of  the  bluff  to  feast  upon  the  view.  He 
dropped  beside  her  and  took  her  hand.  An  automo- 
bile whirred  past  them  and  she  did  not  flinch.  There 
he  underwent  a  revulsion  of  feeling. 

"How  can  you  love  me?"  he  said  bitterly.  "What 
good  am  I?  I  have  no  capacity,  no  prospects,  no 
purpose,  even!  I  am  a  mere  negative,  and  if  I 
loved  you  I  should  free  you  from  the  incubus." 

"Do  you  recall  reading  the  palm  of  a  girl  whose 
lover  in  the  Philippines  refused  to  write  to  her?"  she 
asked.  "It  happened  about  the  time  I  first  knew  you, 
I  think." 

He  nodded,  watching  a  tug  towing  a  bark  out 
through  the  Gate,  and  she  told  him  what  she  had 
heard  of  Fleurette's  story  that  morning.  It  was  no 
slight  relief  to  him  to  think  that  he  had  helped  some 
one,  though  his  assistance  had  been  based  upon  deceit. 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  said.  "Don't  you  understand 
how  women  love?  It  makes  no  difference  how  poor 


428  THE    HEART   LINE 

or  how  dishonored  a  man  may  be,  if  she  loves  him  her 
happiness  must  be  with  him." 

"Oh,  a  physical  deformity  is  easy  enough  to  forget. 
But  how  about  a  moral  one  ?  You'll  be  the  wife  of  an 
outcast." 

"If  you  refused  to  accept  my  love,  if  you  left  me, 
now,  you  would  be  inflicting  a  far  greater  pain  than 
any  gossip  could  ever  give  me." 

"The  mere  problem  of  living  appals  me,"  he 
went  on  gloomily.  "I  would  never  think  twice  of  it, 
if  I  were  alone.  But  you  know  what  a  coward  mar- 
riage makes  of  one." 

She  laughed  in  his  face.  "I'll  be  your  first  patient, 
Doctor  Granthope,  and  I'll  pay  you  well !" 

"If  there  was  some  way  of  getting  that  money  of 
Madam  Grant's.  I've  never  even  thought  of  trying 
to  claim  it,  but  perhaps  I  might  go  up  to  Stockton  and 
inquire  about  it.  Of  course,  there's  no  fear  of  being 
accused  of  stealing  it,  now.  But  even  if  I  had  it,  I 
don't  know  whether  or  not  it  would  be  right  to  use  it 
myself." 

"You  might  at  least  borrow  it  for  a  while,  but  for 
my  own  part  I'm  convinced  that  it's  yours.  There's 
no  reason  why  the  bank  should  have  the  use  of  it  for 
nothing.  I  wish  we  could  clear  up  that  matter  of 
Madam  Grant" 

They  set  out  again,  she  with  a  buoyant  tread,  wil- 
lowy and  strong.  It  was  not  till  her  muscles  relaxed 
that  her  characteristic,  dreamy  languor  was  apparent, 
and  this  trait  was  slowly  disappearing  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  new  interest  in  her  life.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  found,  now,  what  she,  in  her  former  quies- 
cent moods,  had  been  watching  and  waiting  for,  and 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  429 

Granthope's  presence  stimulated  her  with  energy.  She 
was  almost  coquettish  with  him  at  times,  now,  the 
mood  alternating  with  a  noble  frankness,  the  bold- 
ness of  a  gambler  who  has  cast  all  hardily  upon  a 
single  stroke.  She  was  not  afraid  of  being  seen  with 
him.  She  gave  him  herself  in  every  word  and  glance. 
A  casual  observer  could  have  read  her  fondness  for 
him. 

They  went  along  the  road,  skirting  the  water,  past 
the  battery  emplacements  and  disappearing  guns,  over 
a  low  hill  toward  the  Fort.  From  this  side  the  Bay 
opened  to  them,  and  beyond  lay  line  on  line  of  moun- 
tains, growing  hazier  in  the  distance,  to  the  north 
and  east.  They  had  regained  their  spirits  with  this 
exercise,  and  talked  again  freely  as  boy  and  girl.  He 
noticed  with  amusement  and  delight  how  she  edged, 
unconsciously,  nearer  and  nearer  him.  If  he  crossed 
the  road,  she  came  to  him,  without  perceiving  the 
regularity  of  it,  as  the  armature  comes  to  the  mag- 
net. She  nearly  forced  him  into  the  wall,  or  off  the 
walk,  in  her  unthinking  pursuit  of  him,  so  strongly 
he  attracted  her.  She  blushed  furiously  when  he  spoke 
of  it — it  was  so  droll  that  he  could  not  help  mention- 
ing it — but  that  comment  did  not  cure  her.  She  was 
over  by  his  side,  rubbing  elbows  as  unaffectedly  the 
next  instant.  How  could  she  help  it,  when  he  kept 
his  eyes  on  her  as  he  did?  she  said.  So,  along  the 
shore  by  the  Life  Saving  Station,  up  to  the  parade 
ground  and  the  barracks,  then  by  a  climb  up  the  steep, 
narrow,  tree-grown  path  to  the  corner  gate  of  the 
reservation  they  sported. 

That  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  outings  they  had 
together  that  week.  The  Golden  Gate  Park,  Sutrp's 


430  THE    HEART    LINE 

forest  and  the  beach  were  each  explored  in  turn, 
and  while  still  within  the  limits  of  the  city  they  tasted 
of  country,  mountain  and  shore,  and  let  the  days  fly 
by.  Clytie  brought  the  luncheon,  and  they  ate  it,  picnic 
fashion,  under  the  blue  sky.  She  kept  strict  account 
of  his  finances,  and  as  his  small  capital  dwindled  they 
came  back  to  his  plans  for  the  future.  He  met  her, 
one  day,  with  news. 

"I  think  I  shall  have  to  go  to  work,  after  all,"  he 
said.  "I've  got  a  position." 

She  congratulated  him,  not  without  a  shade  of 
sorrow  that  their  holidays  were  to  end. 

"It's  too  much  like  my  old  work  to  be  very  proud 
of,  but  it's  a  step  up.  It's  founded  on  vanity,  but  this 
time  I  shall  exploit  my  own  instead  of  others'.  I'm 
going  on  the  stage.  I've  found  my  name  is  worth 
something." 

She  was  a  little  disappointed  and  he  was  not  sur- 
prised. "Oh,  I'll  soon  become  unbearable,  I  suppose. 
Most  of  the  time  I  don't  spend  in  front  of  the  make-up 
glass  looking  at  myself,  I'll  spend  being  looked  at, 
trying  to  propitiate  an  audience.  It's  a  school  of  ego- 
ism. But  at  least  my  pose  will  be  honest.  I  saw  the 
stage  manager  of  the  Alcazar,  and  I'm  going  to  begin 
to  rehearse  next  Monday." 

He  spoke  banteringly,  but  she  felt  the  truth  of  his 
jests.  Still,  it  would  provide  for  the  present.  It 
would  make  him  more  than  ever  notorious — but  it  was 
better  than  idleness. 

The  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  she  appeared  at  the 
studio  to  spend  the  day  with  him.  It  was  Wednes- 
day, and  they  were  anxious  to  make  the  most  of  what 
time  remained. 


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON  431 

Except  for  his  bed,  table  and  bureau,  his  chamber 
was  empty  now,  all  his  effects  having  been  sold  at 
auction.  The  sum  received  barely  sufficed  to  pay  off 
his  debts.  The  studio,  too,  was  bare,  and  placards 
hung  outside  both  doors  indicating  that  the  premises 
were  to  let.  The  little  office,  however,  was  left  as 
usual,  except  for  the  casts  of  hands,  put  away  in  the 
closet,  and  in  this  room  they  stayed  by  the  open  fire. 

He  was  looking  over  his  card  catalogue  as  she 
entered.  He  had  conceived  the  plan  of  writing  a  book 
on  palmistry  along  new  lines,  in  which  he  might 
embody  his  observations  and  theories.  His  aim  was 
to  attempt  to  correlate  chirography,  chiromancy,  phre- 
nology, physiognomy  and  all  those  sciences  and  pseudo- 
sciences  which  seek  to  interpret  character  through 
specialized  individual  characteristics,  and  to  trace  the 
evidences  from  one  to  another,  showing  how  each  ele- 
ment or  indication  would  recur  in  every  manifestation 
of  a  person's  individuality,  and  how  one  symptom 
might  be  inferred  and  corroborated  by  another.  It 
would  take  time  and  trouble,  but  he  could  spend 
his  leisure  upon  it.  The  plan  was  tentative  and  hypo- 
thetical, but  so  suggestive  that  he  was  becoming 
interested  in  proving  its  verification.  Clytie  was  en- 
thusiastic about  the  book  and  desirous  of  helping  him. 

He  was  becoming  less  afraid  of  her,  and  more  sure 
of  himself,  after  their  days  together,  and  he  greeted 
her  boldly  enough,  now.  Yet  there  was  still  a  fasci- 
nating novelty  in  his  possession  of  her  that  made  his 
familiarity  seem  like  recklessness.  Not  for  her,  how- 
ever. Once  having  given  him  her  lips  she  could  never 
refuse  them  again,  nor  could  she  longer  think  the 
action  strange. 


432  THE   HEART   LINE 

She  took  off  her  coat  and  hat,  tucked  in  an  errant 
curl  or  two  over  her  ears  and  seated  herself  lux- 
uriously in  the  arm-chair.  As  she  had  played  with  him, 
so  now  she  worked  with  him,  arranging  his  notes,  dic- 
tating for  him  to  write,  or  stopping  to  discuss  the 
subject.  She  was  too  adorable  in  all  this  assumption 
of  importance  and  seriousness  for  him  not  to  inter- 
rupt her  occupation  more  than  once,  for  which  diver- 
sion of  her  attention  he  was  sent  back  promptly  to  his 
desk.  The  business  kept  them  so  employed  for  two 
hours,  when  she  opened  her  package,  brought  forth 
their  luncheon  and  brewed  a  pot  of  tea  on  the  hearth. 

"Francis,"  she  said,  after  that  was  over,  "do  you 
know  we  are  actually  becoming  acquainted  ?  Isn't 
it  too  bad !" 

"Don't  you  enjoy  the  process?" 

"Decidedly  I  do.  That's  why  I  regret  that  it  must 
soon  be  over." 

"I  doubt  if  we'll  ever  finish — if  we  do,  it  will  be 
still  more  delightful  to  know  you.  And  this  process 
brings  us  toward  that  beautiful  consummation." 

"Yes,  but  this  part  is  so  pleasant.  I  hate  to  see 
it  go.  I  want  to  roll  it  over  on  my  tongue.  Now, 
every  word  you  say  is  a  revelation  and  a  surprise — 
a  surprise  that  I  have  been  anticipating  all  my  life, 
if  you'll  pardon  the  bull.  It's  like  unwrapping  a 
mummy — I  get  excitedly  nearer  and  nearer  my  ideal 
of  you."  ' 

"But  there's  no  satisfaction  in  opening  doors  '  if 
one  can't  go  in." 

"Ah,  there's  the  immortal  difference  between  a  man 
and  a  woman !  Most  men  want  a  marvel,  patent  and 
notorious.  They  want  to  come  to  the  end  of  the  rain- 


THE   FORE-HONEYMOON  433 

bow  and  find  the  pot  of  gold ;  that's  all,  whether  that 
means  a  kiss  or  a  marriage.  Women  enjoy  every  step 
of  the  journey.  Men  think  of  nothing  but  fulfilment, 
women  of  achievement.  Men  care  only  for  the  black 
art  of  the  Indian  fakir  who  makes  a  grain  of  wheat 
grow  to  full  maturity  in  a  few  minutes.  Women 
appreciate  the  wonder  of  the  natural  development  of 
that  same  little  seed  in  the  warm  bosom  of  the  earth, 
with  its  slow  evolution  of  sprout  and  stalk  and  leaf 
and  blossom — the  glory  of  every  step  on  the  way!" 
"But,  can't  you  see  that  progress  in  affection  needn't 
be  a  limited  journey  to  a  finite  end,  even  the  end  of  the 
flower,  but,  no  matter  how  fast  one  travels,  if  one 
is  really  in  love,  the  goal  is  always  infinitely  distant? 
There  are  enough  things  to  be  understood  and  en- 
joyed." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  enough  that  I'll  never  get  enough  of 
you,  and  never  know  enough  about  you !" 

"That's  almost  too  true  to  be  funny.  You'll  never 
know  even  who  I  am,  I'm  afraid.  Think  what  a  risk 
you  run,  my  dear!" 

"Oh,  I  know  who  you  are  well  enough.  You're  the 
son  of  Casanova  and  Little  Dorrit." 

He  grew  reflective.  "Isn't  it  strange,"  he  said, 
"that  you,  with  all  your  wonderful  intuitions,  shouldn't 
be  able,  somehow,  to  solve  that  riddle?  Do  you  think 
I  am  Madam  Grant's  son?  Sometimes  that  seems  to 
be  the  inevitable  conclusion." 

"I  can't  quite  think  you  are,  Francis.  Everything 
you  have  told  me  about  her  has  brought  her  very 
near  to  me,  somehow,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  her,  but 
you  don't  affect  me  in  the  same  way.  I  think  you're 
a  changeling,  myself!  It  is  strange  that  I  can't  quite 


434  THE   HEART    LINE 

'get'  you  now,  though,  not  nearly  as  well  as  I  used  to. 
My  power  seems  to  have  waned  ever  since — " 

"Since  what?" 

"Since  that  first  kiss !  You  see,  I've  exchanged  that 
elusive  power  for  something  tangible."  She  put  him 
away  with  a  gesture.  "No,  not  now!  I  want  to 
be  serious !  And  oh,  here's  what  I  found  in  my  father's 
scrap-book.  It  seemed  to  have  been  cut  from  a  very 
old  paper.  Somehow  it  seems  to  point  to  her.  I  want 
to  know  what  you  think  about  it." 

She  had  copied  it  out  and  read  it  to  him: 

"Miss  Felicia  Gerard,  who  spoke  immediately  after  Mrs. 
Woodhull's  address,  is  one  of  that  lady's  most  devoted  ad- 
herents and  helpers,  having  been  connected  with  the  cause 
for  nearly  a  year.  Although  only  twenty  years  of  age, 
Miss  Gerard  has  brought  into  action  talents  of  no  mean 
order.  She  was  graduated  at  Vassar  College,  and  is  en- 
dowed both  physically  and  mentally  with  the  rarest  and 
most  lovable  qualities.  She  was  first  presented  to  Mrs. 
Woodhull  in  Toledo,  where  the  remarkable  clairvoyant 
powers  shared  by  the  two  women  drew  them  naturally  to- 
gether. Miss  Gerard  is  a  regular  contributor  to  Woodhull 
and  Claflin's  Weekly  where  her  spirited  articles  have  at- 
tracted wide  notice  and  flattering  praise." 

"That  must  be  Mamsy,"  he  said. 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  I  shall  ask  my  father  as  soon  as 
I  get  the  opportunity." 

For  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  they  talked  as  if  they 
were  never  to  meet  again.  Once  or  twice  there  came 
a  knock,  and  the  door  was  tried,  but  Granthope  did 
not  answer,  and  they  were  left  alone  in  peace.  She 
rose  to  go  at  six,  and,  as  she  was  to  be  busy  all  the 
next  day,  the  parting  was  long  delayed.  They  were, 
indeed,  getting  rapidly  acquainted. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    REENTRANT   ANGLE 

Blanchard  Cayley  strolled  into  the  Mercantile  Libra 
ry,  one  afternoon,  and,  nodding  to  the  clerk  at  the 
desk,  walked  to  an  alcove  in  the  corner  of  the  main 
hall.  He  stopped  at  a  shelf  and  sat  down  on  a  stool. 
He  had  done  this  several  afternoons  a  week  for  years, 
going  through  the  library  as  a  business  man  takes 
account  of  stock,  examining  every  book  in  order.  Of 
some  he  read  only  the  titles,  glancing  perhaps  also 
at  the  date  of  the  edition ;  of  some  he  looked  over  the 
table  of  contents.  Others  he  read,  nibbling  here  and 
there.  A  few  he  took  home.  He  had,  by  this  time, 
almost  exhausted  the  list.  He  read,  not  like  a  book- 
worm, with  relish  and  zest,  nor  like  a  student  desirous 
of  a  mastery  of  his  subject;  he  read,  as  he  did  every- 
thing, even  to  his  love-making,  deliberately,  accurately, 
with  an  elaborate  scientific  method  that  was,  in  its 
intricacy,  something  of  a  game,  whose  rules  he  alone 
knew.  He  had,  indeed,  specialized,  taking  up  such 
subjects  as  jade,  Japanese  poetry,  Esperanto,  higher 
space,  Bahiism,  and  devil-worship,  and  in  such  sub- 
jects he  had  what  is  termed  "lore,"  but  his  main  object 
was  the  conquest  of  the  whole  library  in  itself. 

This  afternoon  he  did  not  read  long.  Looking 
over  the  top  of  his  book,  as  was  his  custom  from  time 
to  time,  to  discover  what  women  were  present,  he 
caught  sight  of  Clytie  Payson  in  the  alcove  containing 

435 


436  THE   HEART   LINE 

the  government  reports.  He  replaced  his  volume  and 
went  over  to  her. 

She  was  in  high  spirits,  and  welcomed  him  cordially, 
as  if  she  had  but  just  come  from  something  interesting 
and  stimulating;  another  man's  smile  seemed  still  to 
linger  with  her. 

"Why,  how  d'you  do,  Blanchard?"  she  said.  "I 
haven't  seen  you  here  for  a  long  time.  What  has  hap- 
pened? Have  you  finished  the  library  yet?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  quite.  I've  still  a  few  more  shelves 
to  do,  but  I've  been  studying  psychology  on  the  side." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  indulgence  that  was  new 
to  him.  "In  petticoats,  I  presume,  then?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "No,  I've  been  studying 
a  man,"  he  said.  "What  are  you  doing?" 

She  overlooked  the  purport  of  his  question  and 
answered  lightly,  "Oh,  only  looking  up  some  statistics 
for  father.  I've  been  coming  here  quite  often,  lately, 
but  I'm  almost  finished,  now.  Is  there  anything  in  the 
world  duller  than  a  statistic?  I  always  think  of  the 
man  who  went  for  information  to  a  statistician  at 
Washington  and  was  asked,  'What  d'you  want  to 
prove?'" 

"How  is  your  father  getting  on  with  the  book?" 

Clytie  grew  a  little  more  serious.  "Why,  father's 
queer  lately.  I  can't  understand  him  at  all.  He's 
taken  up  with  some  spiritualist's,  and  I'm  rather  wor- 
ried about  it." 

"He's  talked  to  me  about  them.  But  I  should  hardly 
think  you'd  be  surprised  at  it.  You're  as  much  inter- 
ested in  palmistry  as  he  is  in  the  spooks,  aren't  you?" 

Clytie  flashed  a  glance  at  him.  "Didn't  you  know 
that  Mr.  Granthope  had  given  up  palmistry?" 


THE    REENTRANT   ANGLE  437 

Cayley  smiled  and  smoothed  his  pointed  beard. 
"Oh,  yes.  I've  heard  considerable  about  it.  Nobody 
seems  to  understand  it  but  me.  Very  clever  of  him, 
I  think." 

"What  d'you  mean?"  Clytie  was  instantly  upon  the 
defense. 

"I  like  his  system.    It's  subtle." 

"His  system?" 

"Yes.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  still  think  he's 
sincere,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  think  it's  necessary  to  discuss  Mr.  Grant- 
hope,"  said  Clytie  carelessly.  "Of  course  I  do  believe 
he's  sincere,  or  I  wouldn't  call  myself  a  friend  of  his. 
He  has  given  up  a  good  paying  business  because  he 
was  sick  of  that  way  of  earning  a  living." 

"And  also  in  order  to  make  more  money  by  quit- 
ting." 

"How?" 

"By  marrying  you." 

She  winced.  "Blanchard,"  she  said,  "if  you  weren't 
an  old  friend,  I  couldn't  forgive  you  that.  But  because 
you  are,  I  can't  permit  you  to  think  it." 

"It  was  because  we  are  old  friends  that  I  permitted 
myself  to  speak  so  plainly.  You'll  count  it,  I  suppose, 
merely  as  jealousy.  But  I  hate  to  see  you  taken  in  so 
easily." 

Clytie  looked  up  at  him  calmly,  folding  her  hands 
in  her  lap.  "Now,  Blanchard,  please  tell  me  exactly 
what  you  mean,  without  any  more  insinuations." 

"Why,  Granthope  has  been  for  two  months 
trymg  to  marry  you.  He's  after  your  money." 

"Thank  you  for  the  implied  compliment,"  she  re- 
torted dryly. 


438  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Oh,  well,  you  know  perfectly  well  what  /  think 
of  you,  Cly.  I  was  thinking  of  what  I  know  of  him, 
not  what  I  know  of  you.  He's  made  a  deliberate 
attempt  to  get  you,  and  this  reform  business  is  only 
a  part  of  the  game." 

She  smiled  and  turned  away,  as  if  she  were  so  sure 
of  Granthope  that  it  was  hardly  worth  her  while  even 
to  defend  him. 

"It's  not  pleasant  to  say  it,"  he  went  on;  "but  you 
spoke  of  being  distrustful  of  these  mediums  your  father 
knows,  and  my  point  is  that  Granthope's  tarred  with 
the  same  brush.  He  has  worked  with  them  and  plot- 
ted with  them." 

She  was  as  yet  unruffled ;  the  spell  of  her  happiness 
was  still  upon  her,  and  she  answered  mildly.  "I  can 
hardly  blame  you  for  thinking  that,  perhaps.  I  sup- 
pose I  might  myself,  if  I  didn't  know  him  so  well. 
But  I  do  happen  to  know  something  about  his  life,  and 
I'm  sure  you're  mistaken.  He's  told  me  a  good  deal, 
and  I  have  my  own  intuitions  besides." 

Cayley  was  as  serene.  "Do  your  intuitions  tell  you, 
for  instance,  that  he  has  a  definite  understanding  with 
these  mediums — in  regard  to  you  ?" 

"No,  they  do  not!"  she  answered  calmly,  looking 
him  fair  in  the  face. 

"It's  true,  nevertheless."  Cayley,  with  sharp  eyes, 
noted  her  flush.  Her  eyes  were  well  schooled,  but  her 
quivering  mouth  betrayed  her  trouble. 

She  took  up  her  book  as  if  to  dismiss  the  subject. 

Cayley  watched  her  with  impassive  eyes.  "You  may 
be  his  friend,  as  you  say,  but  there  are  a  lot  of  things 
about  Granthope  that  you  don't  know  yet." 

"No  doubt,"  she  replied  without  looking  up. 


THE   REENTRANT   ANGLE  439 

"And  there  are  things  which  you  ought  to  know." 

She  looked  at  him  now,  to  say:  "Do  you  fancy 
that  you  are  helping  your  own  chances  any  by  attack- 
ing him?" 

"Will  it  help  his  chances  any  if  you  find  that  he 
has  given  away  particular  facts  that  he's  discovered 
about  you  and  your  father?" 

She  had  begun  to  be  aroused,  now,  and  she  showed 
fight.  "I  don't  believe  it!" 

Still  unperturbed,  he  went  on  in  his  mechanically 
precise  way.  "I've  made  it  my  business  to  find  out 
about  Granthope,  Cly.  It  shouldn't  surprise  you — 
you  know  I'm  in  earnest  about  wanting  you.  I'm  as 
earnest,  too,  in  wanting  to  protect  you.  I  don't  pro- 
pose to  hold  my  tongue  when  I  find  that  you're  trust- 
ing in  a  man  that's  knifing  you  behind  your  back." 

Her  voice  rang  with  pride  and  scorn  as  she  rose, 
saying,  "I  don't  care  to  discuss  the  matter  further, 
Blanchard." 

"Not  when  I  say  that  I  have  seen  notes  in  Grant- 
hope's  own  handwriting  that  were  given  to  a  medium 
as  a  part  of  a  deliberate  scheme  ?  These  notes  were  on 
definite  things  he  had  learned,  I'm  sure,  from  his  con- 
versations with  you.  Some  of  them  are  personal  mat- 
ters that  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  at  all  care  to  have 
made  public.  You  could  easily  prove  it  if  you  saw 
them." 

She  had  lost  courage  again,  and  hesitated,  staring 
at  him. 

Then  she  said,  freezing,  "Let  me  see  them,  then.  If 
you're  determined  to  have  a  scene,  you  may  as  well 
follow  the  rules  of  melodrama." 

"I  can't  show  them,  because  this  medium  wouldn't 


440  THE   HEART   LINE 

let  them  out  of  his  possession.    But  I  can  get  him  to 
let  you  see  them,  if  you  like." 

"You  say  they  are  about  things  we — that  I  talked 
about?" 

"Yes." 

"Things— about— me  ?" 

"Yes.  I  forget  all  of  them.  I  had  only  a  moment's 
glance." 

•  For  some  moments  she  stood  silent.  Then  she 
spoke  swiftly.  "I  don't  believe  it.  He  couldn't  do 
such  a  thing!" 

"My  dear  Cly,  you  must  remember  that  one's  whole 
mental  evolution  is  merely  the  history  of  the  conflict 
between  reason  and  instinct,  and  reason  is  bound  to 
win  in  the  end.  That's  the  way  we  develop.  The 
fact  is,  he  could  do  it  and  did  do  it.  He's  a  charlatan 
and  he  has  used  a  charlatan's  methods.  I  said  he  was 
clever.  This  giving  up  his  studio  was  merely  a  kind 
of  gambit.  But  he  made  a  mistake  when  he  tried  to 
use  a  lot  of  cheap  fakirs  to  help  him  out  with  you." 

"Oh!"  She  clenched  her  fists.  "Don't!  I  won't 
stand  it!"  Her  head  dropped  as  if  she  were  weary. 
Her  eyes  burned. 

"Oh,  there's  good  in  everybody,  the  copy-books  say," 
he  returned.  "But  the  fact  is,  Cly,  he  isn't  in  your 
class,  and  never  was.  You  should  have  seen  that !" 

She  looked  at  him  without  seeing  him,  her  eyes 
caught  meaninglessly  by  the  garnet  in  his  tie,  clinging 
to  it,  as  if  it  were  the  only  real  thing  in  the  world. 
Her  lips  parted,  the  color  was  leaving  her  cheeks, 
she  looked  as  frail  as  a'  ghost.  Suddenly  she  threw 
off  her  reverie,  and  placing  her  hand  on  his  arm,  said, 
"Let  me  see  them — the  notes — Blanchard.  There 


THE   REENTRANT   ANGLE  441 

must  be  some  horrid  mistake.  I  want  to  clear  it  up 
immediately." 

"Very  well,  I'll  take  you  now,  if  you  like.  It  isn't 
far." 

She  followed  him  out  of  the  library  as  if  hypnotized. 
They  spoke  little  on  the  way.  Cayley  tried  his  best  to 
arouse  her,  but  finally  gave  it  up  as  impossible.  He 
watched  her,  preserving  his  usual  phlegmatic  calm. 
She  walked  with  head  erect,  her  chin  forward,  with  her 
long,  graceful  gait,  beside  him,  but  never  seemed  two 
human  beings  further  apart  in  spirit. 

Flora  Flint  opened  the  door  to  Vixley's  flat.  She 
acted  quite  as  if  she  belonged  there  and  invited  them 
in  cordially,  with  an  up-and-down  scrutiny  of  Clytie 
as  they  passed  in.  Then  she  disappeared  down  the 
long,  tunnel-like  hall.  Cayley  took  Clytie  into  the  of- 
fice where,  refusing  a  chair,  she  stood  like  a  statue, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

Vixley  entered,  currying  his  beard  with  his  long 
fingers.  "Well,  Mr.  Cayley,"  he  said,  "what  can  we 
do  for  you?  Like  a  sitting?" 

"Professor,  you  recall  telling  me  something  about 
some  memoranda  Granthope  gave  you,  don't  you?" 

"I  been  thinkin'  about  that,  Mr.  Cayley,  and  I  don't 
know  as  I  ought  to  have  said  anything.  I'm  rather 
inclined  to  regret  it." 

"You  have  said  something,  and  I've  brought  this 
lady  down  to  show  the  memoranda  to  her,"  said  Cay- 
ley. 

"H'm!"  Vixley  looked  her  over.  "It  ain't  exactly 
customary  to  show  things  like  that,  you  know." 

"We've  had  all  that  out  before.  I'm  here  to  see 
those  cards." 


442  THE   HEART    LINE 

Vixley  drew  up  a  rocking-chair  for  Clytie,  and 
seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  revolving  chair  in 
front  of  his  desk,  putting  the  tips  of  his  long  fingers 
together.  "Francis  Granthope  is  a  bright  young  man," 
he  said,  "a  very  bright  young  man.  Very  painstak- 
ing, and  very  thorough.  I  won't  say  he  ain't  a  leetle 
bit  unscrupulous,  however.  A  man  who  ain't  got  no 
psychic  influence  behind  him  has  got  to  do  some  pretty 
good  guessin'.  Now  you  go  to  work  and  take  me,  with 
my  control,  Theodore  Parker,  and  his  band  o'  spirits, 
I  don't  need  to  bother  much.  I  can  get  all  I  want  out 
of  the  other  plane.  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  against 
Granthope,  except  maybe  that  he  uses  methods,  some- 
times, that  ain't  exactly  legitimate,  such  as  what  I  was 
tellin'  you  about." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  give  you  these  notes  ?"  Cly- 
tie asked. 

"Why,  I  s'pose  he  expected  me  to  give  him  an  equiv- 
alent in  return.  I  will  say  I  have  helped  him  out, 
at  times,  feelin'  rather  predisposed  toward  him,  and 
him  bein'  a  likely  chap.  But  Lord,  /  don't  need  his 
help!  And  so  I  told  him.  In  this  case  I  didn't  feel 
called  upon  to  give  away  none  of  my  client's  affairs. 
Naturally  he  got  a  little  huffy  about  it,  and  he's  acted 
so  that  I'm  inclined  to  resent  it.  I  can't  bear  anything 
like  ingratitude." 

He  opened  his  desk  and  took  from  a  pigeonhole  two 
cards.  He  handed  them  to  Clytie. 

"I  was  tellin'  Mr.  Cayley,  here,  I  knew  about  Grant- 
hope  and  his  methods.  It'll  show  you  what  a  poor 
business  this  palm-readin'  reely  is.  Lord,  they  ain't 
nothin'  in  it  at  all !  If  anybody  wants  to  know  anything 
about  the  future  the  only  way  to  do  is  to  establish 


THE    REENTRANT    ANGLE  443 

communications  with  the  spirit-plane  through  the  well- 
known  and  well-tried  methods  of  spiritualism." 

Clytie  was  not  listening.  Her  eyes  were  upon  the 
cards.  She  looked  and  looked,  reading  and  re-read- 
ing, her  face  set  in  tense  lines,  the  notes  in  Granthope's 
fine,  closely  written  hand.  There  it  was,  as  he  had  set 
it  down: 

Oliver  Payson,  b.  Oct.  2nd,  1842.  b.  d.  present  from  dau., 
bound  copy  of  'Montaigne'  1900.  Tattoo  mark  anchor  on 
right  arm,  near  shoulder.  Writing  a  book.  Economics  (?) 
Knew  Mad.  Grant  (?)  Wife  visited  Mad.  G.  x.  v.  p. 

Clytie  Payson.  Engaged  to  Blanchard  Cayley  (?)  Mole, 
left  cheek.  Ring  with  "Clytie"  inside.  Turquoises.  Claims 
psychic  power.  Clairv.  Goes  to  Merc.  Lib.  afternoons  at  3. 
Buried  doll  under  sun-dial  in  garden. 

As  she  came  to  the  last  line  she  dropped  the  card 
from  her  fingers.  She  had  become  a  woman  of  ice. 

Vixley  picked  up  the  card  and  smiled,  showing 
his  yellow  teeth.  "Kind  of  a  give-away,  ain't  it?  1 
call  his  work  lumpy." 

"I  hope  you're  convinced  now,"  Cayley  added. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  deliberately,  to  the  Pro- 
fessor. "When  did  Mr.  Granthope  give  you  this 
card?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno,  exactly,  he's  gave  me  so  much,  one 
time  or  another.  About  two  weeks  ago,  I  should 
judge.  Why?" 

"I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you."  Her  voice  came 
as  if  from  an  immense  distance.  Then  she  nodded 
to  Cayley,  who  rose. 

"Nothin'  more  I  could  do,  is  they?  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  try  a  sitting  Miss  ?"  Vixley  asked  with  urbanity. 


444  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Thank  you,  no."  Clytie  walked  out  slowly,  with- 
out another  look  at  him,  like  a  somnambulist. 
Vixley  hastened  to  escort  her  to  the  front  door, 
and  opened  it. 

Cayley  gave  him  a  look.  It  was  returned.  Vixley 
bowed.  Clytie  went  out. 

"Are  you  going  over  to  North  Beach?"  Cayley 
inquired.  "I'll  walk  up  to  the  car  with  you." 

"I'll  go  alone,  I  think." 

"Oh,  very  well— but— " 

"Good  afternoon.  You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  Blan- 
chard." 

"All  right.     Good  day." 

She  strode  off,  leaving  him  there. 

She  walked  all  the  way  home,  and  walked  fast,  her 
head  held  high,  looking  straight  ahead  of  her.  She 
took  the  steep  hills  with  hardly  a  slackening  of  her 
speed,  breasting  the  upward  inclines  energetically, 
leaning  forward  with  grace.  Up  Nob  Hill  and 
down  she  went,  along  the  saddle,  up  Russian  Hill  and 
over,  without  her  customary  pause  to  enjoy  the  glori- 
ous outlooks.  Under  her  arm  she  still  carried  the  book 
from  the  library  which  she  had  forgotten  to  put  down 
when  first  Blanchard  Cayley  spoke  to  her.  She  held 
it  automatically,  apparently  not  knowing  that  it  was 
there.  With  it  she  gripped  her  glove ;  her  right  hand 
was  still  bare,  clenching  her  skirt. 

She  turned  into  her  street  at  last,  and  climbed  the 
wooden  steps,  into  the  garden.  As  she  went  up  the 
path,  her  eyes  lighted  upon  the  sun-dial.  She  stopped 
and  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  fixedly.  Then  into  the 
house,  up-stairs  to  her  room,  to  throw  herself  upon 
the  bed  . 


-,,,. 


d 

The  wind  fretted  her  hair  into  a  swirl  of  tawny  brown 

Page  445 


THE   REENTRANT   ANGLE  445 

The  wind  had  risen  and  blew  gustily  about  the 
house.  Her  shutter  banged  at  intervals.  The  noise 
kept  up  till  she  rose,  opened  the  window  and  fas- 
tened back  the  blind,  and  went  back  to  her  bed.  There 
she  lay,  staring,  with  her  eyes  wide  open  ,  .  . 

Her  father  did  not  come  home  that  evening.  At 
half-past  seven  she  got  up  again,  washed  her  face, 
arranged  her  hair,  and  went  down-stairs  to  eat  dinner 
alone.  Afterward  she  stepped  out  into  the  garden. 
The  wind  billowed  her  skirts,  fretted  her  hair  into  a 
swirl  of  tawny  brown,  cooled  her  cheeks.  For  an 
hour  she  walked  up  and  down  in  the  dark.  The  har- 
bor was  thick  with  mist.  The  siren  on  Lime  Point 
sobbed  across  the  Gate  intermittently  .  .  . 

Later,  she  went  into  the  library  and  sat  down  with 
a  book  beside  the  fire.  For  a  half-hour  she  did  not 
turn  a  page,  but  remained  quiescent,  gazing  at  the 
flames  .  .  . 

At  ten  she  went  up  to  her  workroom,  lighted  the 
gas,  and  took  out  her  tools.  For  two  hours  she 
sewed  leaves  on  her  frame,  working  as  if  automati- 
cally. Her  gaze  was  intent ;  one  would  have  said  that 
she  was  completely  absorbed  in  her  task.  Slowly  the 
sheets  piled,  one  on  another,  each  stitched  to  the  back 
with  deft  strokes.  Finally  the  whole  volume  was  com- 
pleted. She  bound  up  the  loose  threads  and  put  the 
book  away.  Then  she  heated  her  irons,  got  out  her 
gold-leaf  and  spent  an  hour  tooling  a  calf  cover,  press- 
ing in  roses  and  circles  and  stipples  while  her  lips  were 
sternly  set.  She  arose,  then,  and  looked  out  into 
the  night  .  .  . 


446  THE    HEART   LINE 

She  undressed  at  last  and  went  to  bed.  Long  after 
midnight  there  was  a  sound  below  of  her  father  com- 
ing in.  His  footsteps  went  to  and  fro  for  a 
time,  then  they  came  up-stairs.  His  door  was  closed 
softly.  There  was  no  sound,  now,  but  the  ticking  of 
her  little  clock,  and,  occasionally,  the  far-away  echo  of 
a  steamer's  whistle,  and  the  dreary  note  of  the  siren. 
She  tossed  uneasily.  The  clock  struck  one,  two,  three, 
four.  Then  the  wind  began  to  sing  round  the  corner 
of  the  house  as  the  gale  rose.  The  noise  was  sooth- 
ingly monotonous,  hypnotic,  anesthetic  .  .  . 

At  breakfast  she  was  cool,  serene,  quiet,  showing  no 
traces  of  her  emotion.  She  talked  with  her  father, 
laughed  with  him,  as  usual,  flying  from  one  topic  to 
another,  never  serious.  As  he  got  up  to  go,  she 
remarked : 

"Father,  I  think  I'll  go  up  to  Sacramento  to  visit 
Mrs.  Maxwell  at  Lonely  a  few  days.  I've  put  it  off 
so  long,  and  she's  been  after  me  again  to  come.  She's 
up  there  all  alone." 

"All  right,  Cly.  I  saw  her  down-town,  day  before 
yesterday,  and  she  told  me  she  was  going  to  ask  you." 

Clytie  frowned.  "You  did?  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  ?"  She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  curiously.  He 
seemed  to  wish  to  evade  her  question.  Then  she  asked, 
with  emphasis,  "Did  you  ask  her  to  invite  me?" 

Mr.  Payson  hesitated.  "Why,  I  told  her  that  you 
would  probably  accept — ' 

She  bit  her  lip,  still  frowning.  "I  understand.  On 
account  of  Mr.  Granthope,  I  presume?" 

"Well,  I  thought  it  would  be  just  as  well  for  you 
to  take  a  little  vacation." 


THE  REENTRANT  ANGLE         447 

Clytie  said  nothing.  Mr.  Payson  lingered,  ill  at  ease 
in  the  face  of  her  implications.  At  last  he  looked  at 
her  over  his  spectacles  and  said  petulantly:  "I've 
been  surprised  at  you,  Cly,  really.  I  have  been 
considerably  worried,  as  well.  I'm  afraid  you've 
compromised  yourself  seriously  by  having  been  seen 
so  much  with  Granthope.  I  haven't  spoken  of  it, 
before,  because  I  had  already  said  all  I  could  to  you. 
You  knew  very  well  what  my  wishes  were  in  the  mat- 
ter and  it  seems  you've  seen  fit  to  disregard  them." 

Clytie  still  kept  silent,  listening  to  him  calmly.  He 
had  worked  himself  up  by  his  own  words  to  an  irasci- 
ble pitch,  but  her  non-resistance  balked  his  temper, 
and  it  oozed  away,  as  he  continued. 

"I  hope  this  trip  will  give  you  a  chance  to  think 
it  well  over,  Cly,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  you'll  come 
to  see  it  as  I  do." 

"Oh,  I'll  think  it  over,"  she  replied  listlessly. 

Mr.  Payson,  having  won  his  point  in  getting  her  out 
of  town,  shook  his  head  without  replying,  and  pre- 
pared to  leave  the  room. 

But  Clytie  continued.  "At  least,  I  am  sure  he  was 
sincere  in  warning  you  against  those  mediums  you 
are  going  to,  father." 

He  turned  to  her,  his  irritability  rekindled  by  her 
remark.  "That's  exactly  what  I  most  dislike  about 
the  man,"  he  exclaimed.  "If  he  hadn't  attempted  to 
prejudice  me  against  them  I  might  believe  in  his  own 
change  of  heart,  or  whatever  it  was.  But  he  went 
back  on  the  very  people  with  whom  he's  been  asso- 
ciated for  years.  Isn't  that  suspicious?" 

"Didn't  he  do  that  to  save  you  from  their  tricks?" 
Her  voice  was  low  and  evidently  troubled ;  she  seemed 


448  THE   HEART   LINE 

to  be  attempting  to  convince  herself,  rather  than  her 
father. 

"I  notice  he  didn't  explain  how  they  managed  to 
give  me  my  tests,"  Mr.  Payson  retorted,  shaking  his 
head  emphatically.  "He  seemed  to  consider  me  the 
most  simple  and  credulous  person  in  the  world.  His 
statements,  at  least  those  he  dared  to  make,  were  all 
general  ones,  and  they  implied  that  I  was  not  old 
enough,  or  else,  perhaps,  too  old  to  sift  the  evidence 
for  myself.  They  were  positively  insulting.  These 
mediums  have  given  me  proof  enough  to  convince 
any  one.  They've  told  me  things  that  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  been  found  out  by  any  tricks.  Take  that 
about  your  giving  me  a  copy  of  Montaigne  for  my 
birthday,  for  instance.  How  could  they  have  found 
that  out?  You  hadn't  told  any  one  about  it,  had  you?" 

"No,"  said  Clytie  faintly. 

"There  you  are,  then!"  Mr.  Payson  wagged  his 
head  solemnly.  "What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"What  else  did  they  say?"  Clytie  asked  anxiously. 

"Plenty  of  things.  Things  I  myself  didn't  know  the 
truth  about  till  I  investigated.  Things  about  my  per- 
sonal affairs,  about  my  past  life — oh,  so  much  that 
I  can't  help  feeling  that  there's  something  in  this 
business  that  we  don't  understand.  Oh !" — he  paused 
for  a  moment,  looking  at  her — "there  was  one  thing 
I  wanted  to  ask  you  about — I  forgot  to  speak  of  it. 
It  sounded  like  nonsense,  at  the  time — you  know  that 
even  spirits  are  sometimes  frivolous  and  inconsequent 
— and  there  were  so  many  other  more  important  com- 
munications at  the  time  that  it  slipped  my  mind.  Vix- 
ley's  control  said  something  once  about  a  doll  that  was 
buried  underneath — " 


THE  REENTRANT  ANGLE        449 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  ring  up  Mrs.  Maxwell,"  Clytie 
interrupted,  springing  up.  "I  must  tell  her  I'm  com- 
ing. If  I  don't  do  it  right  away  now  I  may  not  catch 
her — it  takes  so  long  to  get  a  long  distance  connec- 
tion." 

She  went  up  to  him  and  putting  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  kissed  him.  "Don't  wait,  father,  if  you're 
in  a  hurry.  Good-by!" 

She  walked  to  the  door. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  go  along  down-town,"  he  said.  "Be 
sure  and  write  when  you  get  up  there." 

She  left  him  hurriedly  and  ran  up-stairs. 

At  ten  she  was  at  the  ferry,  waiting  for  the  boat 
which  connected  with  the  Sacramento  train.  There 
was  a  crowd  going,  coming  and  waiting  in  the  long  ar- 
cade outside.  As  she  approached  the  ticket  office  a  man 
was  at  the  window.  He  was  tall,  dark-haired,  distin- 
guished. At  sight  of  him,  Clytie  withdrew  out  of 
sight,  and  let  him  finish  his  business  and  leave.  Then 
she  approached,  bought  her  ticket,  and,  watching 
sharply,  dodging  behind  groups  here  and  there,  she 
succeeded  in  passing  the  ticket  collector  and  losing 
herself  in  the  assembly  in  the  waiting-room  without 
being  observed.  She  wormed  her  way  forward  near 
the  gate,  and  with  the  first  rush  of  passengers,  after 
the  gate  was  raised,  hurried  on  to  the  boat  and  went 
immediately  into  the  ladies'  room. 

On  the  other  side  she  acted  as  cautiously.  She 
remained  till  almost  the  last  passenger  had  left  the 
boat,  then  walked  swiftly  through  the  train-shed  to 
her  car.  For  an  hour,  as  the  train  sped  on,  she  scarce- 
ly looked  to  the  right  or  the  left. 


450  THE   HEART   LINE 

The  train  slowed  up  at  Stockton,  and  stopped.  Cly 
tie  looked  carelessly  out  of  the  window.  Just  as  the 
train  started  again,  Granthope  appeared  on  the  plat- 
form. He  went  up  to  a  cab-driver  and  began  talking. 
Clytie,  flushing  deeply,  watched  him  so  intensely  that 
at  last,  as  if  attracted  by  some  mental  telepathy,  he 
looked  round  and  caught  sight  of  her.  His  hat  came 
off  to  her  immediately.  He  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the 
now  rapidly  moving  train,  as  if  intending  to  board  it, 
then  he  gave  it  up  as  impossible.  Clytie's  eyes  lost 
him,  and  she  was  carried  on.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  the  color  faded  from  her  cheeks. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TIT    FOR    TAT 

Professor  Vixley  had  prepared  his  campaign  with 
Mr.  Payson  with  the  scientific  delight  of  an  engineer. 
His  cunning  was  not  too  low  to  prevent  his  love  of 
the  sport  for  the  sport's  sake,  and  his  elaborations 
and  by-plays  were  undertaken  with  relish  and  enthusi- 
asm. The  pleasure  was  vastly  heightened  for  him  by 
the  character  of  his  dupe.  Mr.  Payson  was  a  figure 
in  the  community,  a  man  of  weight  and  influence.  He 
had  an  established  position  and  an  assured  wealth. 
Heavy  and  slow,  mentally,  he  had  the  dignified  respec- 
tability that  is  usually  associated  with  business  success. 

In  the  mental  manipulation  of  such  a  personage 
Vixley  felt  a  sense  of  power  as  enjoyable  as  the 
pecuniary  reward.  The  dwarf,  socially,  led  the  giant. 

He  had  his  charge,  by  this  time,  well  in  hand.  The 
old  gentleman's  ponderous  mentality  had  been  man- 
aged like  an  ocean  steamship  lying  at  the  dock.  One 
by  one  the  lines  of  doubt  and  distrust  and  prejudice 
had  been  released.  It  was  now  time  to  fire  his  intel- 
lectual boilers.  By  means  of  their  tricks,  eavesdrop- 
ping methods  and  clever  guess-work,  and  with  Cay- 
ley's  help,  they  had  fed  him  fuel  for  the  imagination 
until  now  he  was  roused  to  a  dynamic,  enthusiastic 
belief  in  spiritualism,  or  that  version  of  it  which  best 
suited  their  ends.  Captain  and  pilot  were  aboard  and 
in  command.  It  remained  but  to  ring  up  the  engines, 
turn  over  the  wheel  and  get  under  way  for  the  voyage. 

451 


452  THE   HEART   LINE 

Many  another  such  argosy  had  been  fitted  out  and  had 
sailed  forth  from  their  brains,  to  return  laden  with 
treasure.  There  was  hazard  of  collision  or  shipwreck, 
but  the  only  obstacle  now  in  view  was  Granthope, 
and  Vixley  felt  sure  that  he  could  be  blown  out  of 
the  way  with  the  explosion  of  a  few  scandals. 

Mr.  Payson's  mind  had  an  inertia  which,  once  suc- 
cessfully overcome,  was  transformed  to  momentum. 
He  was  as  credulous,  as  responsive,  as  influenced  by 
the  specious  logic  of  the  medium  as  if  he  had  never 
been  a  skeptic.  Vixley's  next  move  was  to  realize 
financially  on  Payson's  vanity  and  literary  aspirations. 

The  ensuing  series  of  communications  from  "Feli- 
cia," automatically  transcribed  by  Vixley,  developed 
the  fact  Mr.  Payson's  book  would  meet  with  disas- 
trous competition  from  an  unknown  author  who  was 
working  upon  the  same  subject  in  Chicago.  Such  a 
publication  would,  in  the  eyes  of  any  publisher,  materi- 
ally affect  the  value  of  a  San  Francisco  book.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  to  prevent  the  rival  work  from 
being  printed.  The  first  step  necessary,  Vixley  as- 
serted, was  to  send  a  man  to  Chicago  and  investigate 
the  case  and  report  upon  it.  This  preliminary  recon- 
naissance cost  a  considerable  sum.  Payson  did  not  see 
the  emissary,  for  Vixley  had  warned  him  of  the  possi- 
bility of  blackmail.  "Felicia"  now  informed  the  sitter 
that  the  aid  of  the  spirit  world  could  be  invoked  to 
forestall  the  competing  writer's  efforts. 

There  was  a  band  of  spirits  on  the  "third  sphere," 
it  seemed,  who,  though  usually  maleficent,  could  be 
placated.  These  "Diakkas"  could,  and  possibly  would, 
exert  certain  magnetic  or  psychic  powers  so  as  to  pre- 
vent competition.  It  was  difficult,  however,  to  win 


TIT   FOR   TAT  453 

over  spirits  so  fantastic  as  these,  even  when  one  had 
established  communication  with  them — itself  an  intri- 
cate and  dangerous  process.  The  only  safe  way,  Mr. 
Payson  was  assured,  was  to  create  an  atmosphere 
pleasing  to  them,  one  which  absorbed  antagonistic 
vibrations,  and  facilitated  communication  by  intensi- 
fying the  sitter's  aura  and  rendering  their  acceptance 
of  earthly  conditions  easy.  And  so  forth,  through  an 
elaborate  exposition. 

The  thing  was  accomplished  by  means  of  charging 
the  room  with  the  perfume  of  ambergris.  Ambergris, 
however,  was  expensive.  Mr.  Payson  had  to  pay  fifty 
dollars  an  ounce  for  his ;  moreover,  a  fresh  supply  was 
necessary  for  each  seance  as  the  material  quickly 
absorbed  the  deleterious  psycho-physical  elements  of 
the  atmosphere,  and  became  inert  to  vibration.  Profes- 
sor Vixley  divided  this  revenue  with  Madam  Spoil, 
but  he  could  not  divide  his  pleasure  in  his  artful  fic- 
tion. Madam  Spoil  was  only  a  woman;  the  artistic 
niceties  of  the  harlequinade  were  lost  on  her. 

This  could  not,  however,  go  on  for  ever,  nor  were 
the  two  conspirators  content  to  do  business  in  so  small 
a  way.  Both  were  convinced  that  the  only  chance  for 
a  large  and  permanent  income  lay  in  the  production 
of  Payson's  and  Felicia's  child,  and  they  set  about  the 
plan  by  which  this  should  become  remunerative. 

Ringa  was  settled  upon  for  the  impersonation.  He 
was  simple,  easily  taught  and  led;  he  was  willing. 
He  would  be  as  easily  managed  when  the  time  came 
for  a  division  of  the  profits  of  the  enterprise.  And 
so,  one  day,  Madam  Spoil  waddled  out  to  Turk  Street 
to  complete  the  negotiations. 

Professor  Vixley  was  bending  over  a  small  machine 


454  THE   HEART   LINE 

with  horizontal  arms  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  decorated 
with  mirrors,  when  she  rang ;  before  opening  the  door 
he  covered  the  instrument  with  a  black  cloth  and  put 
it  on  his  roll-top  desk  by  the  type-writer. 

Madam  Spoil  came  in  smiling,  unruffled  as  if  her 
face  had  been  freshly  ironed  out. 

"I  been  walking  lately,  to  reduce  my  flesh,  but,  Lord, 
I  get  such  an  appetite  I  eat  more'n  enough  to  balance," 
she  panted,  as  she  lowered  herself  carefully  upon  the 
quilted  couch  and  crushed  back  into  a  sofa  pillow, 
whereon  was  painted  a  fencing  girl  with  a  heart  on 
her  plastron.  She  loosened  her  beaded  cape,  and 
breathed  heavily  in  relief. 

"Well,  I  managed  to  get  here,  after  all!  What 
d'you  think?  Mrs.  Riley  has  been  to  me  for  a  private 
setting.  Do  you  recall  her,  Vixley?  She's  that  wom- 
an who  was  tried  for  murdering  her  husband  some 
years  back  and  was  acquitted;  or  rather  the  jury  was 
hung.  Anyways,  she  wasn't.  But  I  believe  she  done 
it.  She's  as  nervous  as  a  cat,  and  can't  look  you  in 
the  face  to  save  her  soul.  It  seems  that  she  knew 
Madam  Grant  in  the  old  days,  and  used  to  get  readings 
off  her.  I  don't  know  but  we  could  use  her,  someway." 

"Has  she  got  any  money?"  said  the  slate-writer. 

"She  keeps  a  boarding-house,  I  believe.  It  wouldn't 
be  much,  but  'every  little  helps/  as  the  old  lady  said 
when  she  spit  into  the  harbor.  I  might  work  her  for 
five  a  week,  I  s'pose,  but  now  I  think  of  it,  Master- 
son's  doctoring  her." 

"Then  they  won't  be  much  meat  left  on  her  bones !" 
Vixley  grinned.  "But  I  ain't  botherin'  with  landladies 
till  we  finish  with  Payson.  Did  you  see  him  yester- 
day?" 


TIT    FOR   TAT  455 

"I  did,  and  he  said  he'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  if 
we'd  find  the  boy.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he'd  pay 
more  if  we  work  it  right,  not  to  speak  of  what  we  get 
from  Ringa  when  he's  fixed." 

"Lord!  A  thousand  dollars  for  Ringa!  Wouldn't 
that  make  you  seasick?"  Vixley  cackled,  slapping  his 
claw-like  hand  on  his  knee.  "I  say,  Gertie,  we  ought 
to  get  a  couple  of  good  crockery  teeth  put  in  his 
jaw  first,  or  the  old  man  will  want  to  return  him  for 
shop-worn.  Ringa  as  Mr.  Max  Payson,  Esquire !  Gee 
whizz !  I  want  to  be  there  when  the  old  gent  falls  on 
his  neck  and  kills  the  fatted  calf!" 

"I've  known  a  heap  of  worse  boys  than  Max  Ringa 
to  have  for  a  son,"  Madam  Spoil  said,  a  little  irritated. 
"You  go  to  work  and  wash  him  and  dress  him  up  in 
a  Prince  Albert  and  I  don't  know  why  he  won't  do  as 
well  as  anybody." 

"Oh,  he'll  do— he'll  do  elegant!  He'll  do  Payson, 
anyways,  and  that's  all  we  want." 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  teach  him  to  jump  through  the 
hoop  all  right  He'll  be  doing  the  papa's  darling  act 
so  natural  you'll  think  he'd  always  slep'  in  a  bed!" 
She  chuckled  now  till  she  shook  like  a  jelly-fish. 
"He's  just  crazy  about  it.  Says  he'll  come  down  and 
take  me  to  ride  in  his  automobile  car.  Why,  Payson 
will  be  good  for  all  sorts  of  money  if  Ringa  works  him 
right.  He  ought  to  get  an  allowance  of  two  or  three 
hundred  a  month  if  the  old  man's  got  any  proper  feel- 
ings as  a  father." 

"It's  more'n  likely  he'll  pay  Ringa  to  stay  away," 
Vixley  remarked  cynically.  "I've  seen  these  here  fond 
parents  before.  I  don't  seem  to  see  Ringa  doin'  soci- 
ety somehow.  He'd  be  tryin'  to  blow  the  foam  off 


456  THE   HEART   LINE 

his  champagne  and  chewin*  tobacco  in  the  ball-room 
the  first  thing.  But  he'll  do  for  a  starter.  If  worse 
comes  to  worst  we  can  hold  the  old  man  up  to  keep  the 
story  dark — and  then  there's  the  weeklies,  they 
wouldn't  mind  gettin'  hold  of  it." 

"Say!"  Madam  Spoil  suddenly  exclaimed,  "what's 
become  of  Fancy  Gray,  now  that  Frank  has  thrown 
her  down?" 

"Why,  ain't  you  heard  ?  She's  took  up  with  this  fel- 
low Cayley." 

"No!"  Madam  Spoil's  eyes  were  opened  wide  at 
the  bit  of  gossip.  "What's  he  up  to  with  her,  any- 
way?" 

"Why,  I  expect  he's  trying  to  use  her  someway,  so's 
to  queer  Frank's  game  with  Miss  Payson.  Fancy 
knows  all  about  Frank,  if  she  can  be  induced  to  tell. 
If  Cayley  can  show  Frank  up,  he  stands  a  better  show 
to  catch  Miss  Payson  himself.  At  least,  that's  the 
way  I  figure  it.  I  ain't  got  no  idea  that  Cayley  cares 
a  rap  for  Fancy,  but  he's  smooth,  and  as  long  as  he  can 
use  her  he'll  keep  her  jollied  along." 

The  Madam  had  been  thinking  hard.  "Fancy  ought 
to  be  pretty  sore  on  Frank,"  she  offered. 

"I  don't  blame  her.     He's  treated  her  bad." 

"And  there's  no  doubt  about  her  being  stuck  on 
Cayley?" 

"It  certainly  looks  like  it;  she's  with  him  all  the 
time." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  matter  with  getting  Cayley 
to  work  her  so  she  can  help  us  out  with  Payson?  I 
believe  we  could  use  her  good.  She's  a  saucy  chit,  and 
she  makes  me  tired  with  her  fly-up-the-creek  impu- 
dence; but  all  the  same,  she's  clever,  and  if  Cayley 


TIT    FOR   TAT  457 

could  only  induce  her  to  go  into  it,  I  can  see  lots 
of  ways  she  could  help." 

Vixley  thought  over  the  matter  for  a  few  minutes  in 
silence.  "All  right,  Gertie,  I'll  speak  to  him  about  it. 
I  guess  he'll  do  it;  he'll  be  afraid  not  to.  We  got 
him  pretty  well  tied  up,  now." 

"You  can  promise  him  that  Felicia  will  recommend 
that  he  marries  the  girl.  That'll  be  an  inducement." 

"I'm  afraid  the  Payson  girl  has  got  something  to 
say  about  that  herself,  from  all  I  hear." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  we've  queered  Frank  Granthope, 
and  that's  what  Cayley  wanted  most." 

"I  guess  so;  at  least,  that's  what  I  make  out  from 
what  he  says.  He's  pretty  close-mouthed." 

"Well,  if  he  ain't  close-mouthed  about  Payson,  he 
can  tend  to  his  own  affairs  alone,  for  all  I  care.  Has 
he  gave  you  any  more  dope?" 

"Has  he !  Why,  he's  been  a-ringin'  of  me  up  every 
day,  tippin'  me  off  to  everything  the  old  man's  up  to !" 

"You  ain't  let  on  anything  about  this  child  business 
to  Cayley,  have  you?" 

"D'you  think  I  want  to  queer  the  whole  game? 
Of  course  not.  Why,  Cayley  would  be  scared  that 
the  daughter  wouldn't  get  any  of  the  money  if  he 
knew  they  was  another  heir.  All  the  same,  we  got  to 
be  careful  of  Cayley,  for  he  certainly  has  helped  con- 
siderable. The  old  man  wouldn't  be  where  we  got 
him  now  if  Cayley  hadn't  shown  up.  What  d'you 
think  he  told  me  this  mornin'?  Payson's  been  round 
to  a  lot  of  printers,  gettin'  estimates  on  the  book,  so's 
he  can  publish  it  hisself!  Ain't  that  a  gall?  He 
never  asked  my  advice  about  it!  I'm  going  to  give 
him  a  dig  about  that." 


458  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Oh,  well,  let's  get  down  to  business,  I  ain't  got 
any  too  much  time,"  Madam  Spoil  interrupted. 
"About  the  materializing,  now.  We  got  to  have  a 
private  seance,  of  course?" 

Vixley  rose,  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and 
lifted  himself  up  and  down  on  his  toes  as  he  gazed 
at  her.  "I  been  a-thinkin'  it  over,  Gert,  and  I  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  ain't  best.  Payson  ain't  pre- 
pared for  it  yet,  and  we  got  to  go  easy.  He  ain't 
actually  convinced  of  physical  mediumship  yet,  as  it  is. 
I  think  we  better  spring  it  on  him  at  a  public.  Flora 
can  pack  the  room  with  believers  and  cappers,  and 
then,  after  Payson's  seen  a  lot  of  other  folks  recog- 
nizin'  spirits  and  gettin'  messages,  why,  he'll  be  more 
inclined  to  swallow  his  test.  I've  made  a  study  of 
him,  and  that's  my  opinion." 

"Has  Flora  got  plenty  of  help?" 

"She  wants  one  more  girl  to  play  spirit,  for  she's 
just  lost  a  dandy  she  had — she  was  arrested  for  shop- 
liftin',  I  believe.  We  can  fix  her  up,  though.  There's 
your  Miss  French,  for  one." 

"I  don't  trust  her  much,  but  she'll  do  on  a  pinch. 
But  Perry  we  must  have.  It's  better  to  use  our  own 
people.  Who's  Flora's  cabinet  control?" 

"Little  Starlight.  Flora  does  her  with  a  telescope 
rod.  Oh,  Flora's  slick !  She's  a  cracker  jack  of  a  ven- 
triloquist— she's  got  at  least  six  good  voices !" 

"How  does  she  work,  now?    From  the  front  seats?" 

"No,  mostly  through  the  foldin'  doors.  As  soon 
as  the  room  is  dark  and  the  singin'  has  commenced 
she  has  the  door  rolled  back  the  wrong  way  about  a 
foot,  and  her  players  come  in  that  way.  They  don't 
show  against  the  black  cloth,  and  they's  no  danger  at 


TIT    FOR   TAT  459 

all,  for  if  anybody  wants  to  examine  the  cabinet  they 
ain't  no  panels  nor  nothing  to  be  exposed.  Flora's 
just  got  up  a  grand  disappearance  act,  she  tells  me. 
She  wears  a  white  petticoat  and  her  overskirt  is  lined 
with  white.  When  she  comes  out  of  the  cabinet  her 
skirt  is  lifted  up  and  wrapped  round  her  head  inside- 
out,  as  natural  as  life.  Then  she  gradually  lowers  it 
and  the  whole  form  slowly  disappears  down  to  the 
ground  like  a  snow-man  meltin'  in  the  sun.  No,  sir, 
you  can't  beat  that  girl,  not  in  this  town !" 

"Vixley,  I  don't  see  no  end  to  this  graft.  Why, 
after  we've  materialized  we  can  etherealize,  can't  we  ?" 

"Yes,  and  then  we'll  develop  him  till  he  don't  know 
where  he's  at." 

"And  spirit-pictures,  too.  Felicia'll  take  a  grand 
photograph !" 

"You  bet.  I'm  going  to  try  them  big  cloth  ones 
that  you  spray  with  prussiate  o'  potash.  You  can  get 
blue,  yeller,  and  brown  fine.  I  been  workin'  on  it 
already." 

A  ring  at  the  front  door-bell  interrupted  her 
colloquy.  Vixley  tiptoed  to  the  window  and  peeped 
out;  then  he  turned  with  a  scowl. 

"It's  Doc  Masterson.  What  the  devil  does  he 
want,  anyway?" 

"No  good,  I'll  bet,"  she  replied. 

"I  got  to  let  him  in,  I  s'pose.  It  won't  do  to  send 
him  away,  the  old  snake-in-the-grass.  He's  too 
smooth !" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  afraid  of  him.  I  wan't  born  yester- 
day," was  her  contemptuous  reply. 

"All  the  same,  you  be  careful  what  you  say  to  him, 
Gert,"  Vixley  cautioned,  as  he  went  out  into  the  hall. 


460  THE   HEART   LINE 

He  reappeared  with  the  doctor.  Madam  Spoil 
smiled  sweetly. 

Doctor  Masterson  greeted  her  with  a  sour  ex- 
pression, and  shook  hands  limply.  He  sat  down  de- 
liberately, and,  pulling  out  a  soiled  silk  handkerchief, 
wiped  his  creased  forehead  and  his  bald  pate.  Then 
he  cleaned  his  iron-bowed  spectacles,  blinking  his 
red  eyes  as  he  breathed  on  the  lenses. 

Vixley,  from  the  organ  bench,  watched  him 
shrewdly,  and  offered  him  a  cigar. 

"No,  thanks,  I  don't  smoke,"  said  the  doctor 
peevishly. 

"Since  when?"  Vixley  asked  in  surprise. 

"Since  you  give  me  that  last  'Flor  de  Chinatown/ 
or  whatever  it  was.  When  I  want  to  smoke  rag 
carpets  again  I'll  try  another."  He  showed  his  black 
teeth  in  a  vicious  grin. 

Vixley  tittered.  "What's  wrong,  Doc?  Looks  like 
you  had  a  grouch.  Been  takin'  too  much  of  Hasan- 
doka's  medicine  lately?  You  didn't  come  round  here 
to  look  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth,  did  you?" 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat  and  pulled  down  his 
plaid  waistcoat.  "No,  I  didn't.  But  I  didn't  come 
round  for  to  give  you  any  hot  air,  neither!  I'm  glad 
I  struck  Madam  Spoil  here,  for  what  I  got  to  say  may 
interest  her,  too." 

"Spit  it  out  and  get  rid  of  it,  then,"  said  Vixley; 
"don't  mind  us." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Masterson,  "you  ain't  neither  of 
you  treated  me  square.  I  fully  expected  to  be  in  on 
this  Payson  game,  from  what  you  led  me  to  believe, 
and  you  not  only  let  me  out  with  only  a  month's  work, 
but  you've  shut  me  off  from  the  main  graft." 


TIT    FOR   TAT  461 

Madam  Spoil  fired  up.  "We  never  told  you  we  was 
going  to  whack  up  with  you,  at  all!  Seems  to  me 
you  got  considerable  nerve  to  try  and  butt  in !  Who's 
running  this  thing,  anyway?  You  got  all  that's  com- 
ing to  you.  We  ain't  never  took  him  into  partnership, 
Vixley,  have  we?" 

"I  ain't  seen  no  contrack  to  that  effect.  You 
ain't  got  no  call  to  complain,  Doc;  they  ain't  enough 
in  it  for  three.  Payson  ain't  loosened  up  enough  for 
us  to  retire  on  it,  yet." 

Masterson's  thin  lips  drew  back  like  a  hound's,  to 
show  his  fangs.  His  Adam's  apple  rose  and  fell  above 
his  celluloid  collar,  as  he  swallowed  his  irritation. 
"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said  quickly.  "Of  course,  if  you 
want  to  freeze  me  out,  you  can.  But  I  don't  call  it  a 
square  deal.  I  was  the  one  what  got  him  going, 
wan't  I?  Didn't  I  do  my  part  all  right?  I  under- 
stand you're  going  to  materialize  him  and  develop 
him,  and  the  Lord  knows  what-all.  I  don't  see  why 
you  can't  find  room  for  me,  somewhere." 

"You  ought  to  be  thankful  for  what  you  got  out 
of  it!"  Madam  Spoil  exclaimed.  "Lord,  we  didn't 
have  to  take  you  on  at  all!  They's  plenty  of  others 
we  could  have  used.  You're  three  hundred  ahead  of  the 
game  as  it  stands,  and  that's  more  than  you've  ever 
made  in  six  months,  before.  Don't  be  a  hog!" 

"That's  a  nice  thing  for  you  to  say,"  he  sneered. 
"When  I  get  up  to  two  hundred  pounds  I'll  begin  to 
worry  about  that." 

Vixley  interfered  craftily.  "We'll  think  it  over  and 
let  you  know,  Doc;  we  may  be  able  to  use  you,  per- 
haps, but  we  can't  tell  yet  a  while — not  till  we  see 
how  this  thing  turns  out." 


462  THE    HEART    LINE 

Madam  Spoil  broke  in  again,  shaking  her  fat  finger 
at-  him.  "Don't  you  believe  it,  Masterson !  Me  and 
Vixley  can  work  this  thing  alone,  and  you  better  keep 
your  nose  out  of  our  business !  If  you  come  here  look- 
ing for  trouble,  you  can  find  it,  fast  enough!" 

Vixley  winked  at  her,  but  she  was  too  angry  to 
notice  it.  Masterson  rose  stiffly  and  faced  her,  his 
thumbs  caught  in  the  armholes  of  his  plaid  waistcoat. 
"All  right,"  he  said.  "I  ain't  going  to  get  down 
on  to  my  knees  to  you.  But  the  next  time  I'm  asked 
for  a  good  clairvoyant,  it  won't  be  you.  I  only  ask 
what's  fair,  and  I  didn't  come  here  for  to  be  insulted." 

"Oh,  get  on  to  yourself!"  Vixley  said,  taking  him 
by  the  arm.  "Nobody  ain't  insulted  you.  You  can't 
blame  us  if  we  want  to  do  this  our  own  way,  can  you  ?" 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  took  a  few 
steps  toward  the  door.  "You  may  think  better  of  it 
when  you  talk  it  over,"  he  hinted  darkly.  "You  may 
see  my  side  of  it.  Good  afternoon,  Madam  Spoil,  I 
won't  take  no  more  of  your  valuable  time."  He 
walked  out. 

"You  was  a  fool,  Gert,"  said  Vixley,  after  the 
door  slammed.  "It  won't  do  to  let  him  get  down  on 
us.  He  knows  too  much." 

"Pooh!"  she  flouted,  bridling.  "I  ain't  afraid  of 
Masterson,  nor  anybody  like  him.  He  ain't  got 
enough  blood  in  his  neck  to  do  anything.  He  just 
came  round  here  like  a  pan-handler  to  see  if  we 
wouldn't  give  him  a  poke-out.  I'll  see  him  further!" 

"I  ain't  so  sure,"  Vixley  replied,  rubbing  his  beard 
thoughtfully.  "My  rule  is,  don't  make  no  enemies  if 
you  can  help  it.  But  of  course  we  got  to  cut  him 
out." 


TIT   FOR   TAT  463 

Madam  Spoil  subsided  and  changed  the  subject. 
"Have  you  got  that  developing  machine  yet?"  she 
asked,  her  eyes  roving  about  the  room. 

He  walked  to  the  desk  arid  carried  the  machine  to 
the  small  table  in  front  of  her.  Taking  off  the  cloth 
he  disclosed  the  revolving  mirrors  actuated  by  clock- 
work. It  was  much  like  the  instrument  first  used  by 
Braid  in  his  experiments  with  mesmerism.  He  wound 
the  spring  and  set  the  mirrors  in  motion.  They 
whirled  madly  in  their  circle,  casting  flashes  of  light. 
"That's  the  way  it  works — you  just  stare  at  it 
hard.  I  guess  that  will  hold  Payson  a  while.  He's 
got  the  scientific  bug  enough  to  like  this  sort  of 
thing." 

Madam  Spoil  put  her  elbow  on  the  table  and  rested 
her  head  on  her  hand,  gazing,  fascinated,  at  the  flash 
of  the  revolving  mirrors.  As  the  machine  began  to 
whir,  the  canary  in  the  cage  by  the  window  began 
warbling  in  an  ecstasy  of  song.  Vixley  swore  at  the 
bird,  and  then,  as  it  refused  to  stop,  took  down  the 
cage  and  walked  to  the  door  with  it. 

"I  guess  that'll  bring  Felicia,  all  right,  won't  it?" 
he  said  as  he  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Madam 
Spoil  transfixed,  lulled  and  charmed  by  the  flying 
mirrors. 

He  was  gone  longer  than  he  intended;  it  was  seven 
or  eight  minutes  before  he  returned,  whistling  through 
his  teeth.  He  turned  into  the  front  room  and  stopped 
in  astonishment. 

Madam  Spoil  was  standing  beside  the  machine, 
which  had  now  run  down.  Her  eyes  stared  blankly 
at  the  desk,  one  hand  clutched  her  breast,  the  other 
was  raised,  as  if  to  put  something  away  from  her. 


464       -  THE   HEART   LINE 

Her  little  low-crowned  Derby  hat  had  fallen  partly 
off  and  hung  on  one  side  of  her  head.  She  stared, 
without  speaking,  her  face  set  with  an  expression  of 
terror. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Gert,  what's  the  matter?"  he 
cried. 

She  turned  her  eyes  slowly  toward  him,  shuddered, 
sighed,  and  her  hands  fell  together.  Then  her  face 
lighted  up  in  a  frenzy.  "My  God,  Vixley,  I  got  it! 
I  got  it !  After  all  these  years !" 

"Got  what,  you  crazy  fool?    The  jimjams?" 

"I  got  materializing — I  got  a  spirit!  She  was 
right  over  there  by  the  desk — a  woman  with  white 
hair,  it  was,  and  she  give  me  a  message!" 

"Rats!"  Vixley  was  contemptuous.  He  took  her 
hand  and  gave  her  a  little  shake.  "Is  that  all?  I 
guess  you  was  hypnotized,  Gert,  that's  all.  That's 
what  I  got  this  jigger  for,  only  I  never  thought  you'd 
be  one  to  go  off  half-cock  like  that!" 

"Vixley,"  she  said  emphatically,  "don't  you  be  a 
fool !  I  see  a  spirit  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  and 
you  can't  make  me  believe  I  didn't.  And  I  know  who 
it  was,  now.  It  was  Felicia  Grant,  as  I'm  a  sinner, 
and  she  came  to  warn  me  about  Payson.  Oh,  you 
can  laugh;  I  s'pose  I  would  if  I  was  you,  but  this 
was  the  real  thing,  sure !" 

She  reseated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  put  her  hands 
to  her  eyes.  Vixley  sat  on  the  arm  of  the  Morris 
chair  and  laughed  loudly.  "Well,  well!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "if  that  ain't  a  good  one!  Spirit,  was  it? 
Well,  I  guess  if  it'll  work  on  Gertie  Spoil  it'll  work  on 
Payson,  all  right.  Oh,  Lord !" 

She  shook  both  hands  wildly,  almost  hysterical  with 


TIT    FOR    TAT  465 

excitement,  the  tears  flowing.  "My  God!  We  can't 
go  on  with  Payson  now.  I  don't  dare  to.  I'm  fright- 
ened." 

"Oh,  you  just  got  an  attack  of  nerves,  that's  all. 
You'll  get  over  it  and  laugh  at  it.  You  keep  still  and 
cool  off." 

She  wagged  her  head  solemnly,  unconscious  of  her 
hanging  hat.  "See  here,  Vixley,  you  know  me! 
I'm  too  old  a  bird  to  be  fooled  with  fakes — I've  done 
too  much  of  that  myself.  I've  always  claimed  that  I 
had  clairvoyance,  but  I  lied.  I  never  got  that  nor 
clairaudience,  no  matter  how  I  tried  for  it,  and  I've 
had  to  fake.  I've  had  a  gift  o'  guessing,  perhaps, 
but  that's  all.  But  I  swear  to  God,  I  got  materializing 
just  now.  I've  scoffed  at  it  all  my  life,  but  I  believe  it 
now.  I  see  her  just  as  soon  as  you  left,  standing 
right  over  there  by  the  desk,  she  was,  and  she  turned 
to  me  and  she  says,  'If  you  persist  you  will  come  to 
harm.  Take  my  advice  and  don't  you  do  it !'  and  then 
she  faded  away.  What  d'you  s'pose  it  means  ?" 

"It  means  you  need  a  drink,"  he  said,  and,  walking 
to  the  desk,  he  took  out  a  whisky  bottle  and  poured 
out  a  stiff  dose.  "Them's  the  spirits  that'll  help  you 
most.  You  put  this  down  and  see  how  you  feel !" 

She  put  it  away  with  an  impatient  gesture.  "Oh, 
you  don't  believe  it,"  she  cried,  "but  I  see  her  just  as 
plain  as  I  see  you  this  minute,  and  I  heard  her,  too. 
What'll  I  do,  Vixley?  I  can't  give  up  my  business, 
can  I?  I  got  to  live." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  don't  see  as  they's 
anything  to  worry  about,  granted  it  was  a  spirit,  which 
it  wasn't  one,  o'  course." 

"She  said,  'If  you  persist  you  will  come  to  harm !' 


466  THE    HEART    LINE 

What  else  could  that  mean  but  Payson?  Let's  call 
it  all  off,  before  anything  happens." 

"Bosh !  It  ain't  likely  it  meant  Payson  any  more 
than  it  did  anything  else.  Why,  the  thing  is  as  sim- 
ple as  a  rattle.  Spirits  be  damned !  You  leave  that  to 
the  suckers — with  money." 

Although  his  incredulity  and  sneers  prevented  her 
from  actually  withdrawing  from  the  projected  seance, 
she  was  by  no  means  restored  to  calmness.  She  gave 
but  a  reluctant,  distracted  attention  to  his  plans,  and 
talked  little  herself.  She  went  home  oppressed  by 
the  sinister  suggestions  of  her  vision,  muttering  her 
dread  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    MATERIALIZING    SEANCE 

FLORA     FLINT'S     Marvelous     Spirit     Messages 
and    Grand    Materializing    Test    Seance    To-night. 
SQC.     5203  Van  Ness  Ave.     Come,  Skeptics. 

Dougal  pointed  to  this  notice  in  the  Call  one  night 
at  Fulda's.  There  were  six  at  table;  he  and  Mabel 
and  Elsie,  Maxim,  Starr  and  Benton. 

Benton  took  up  the  paper,  with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes, 
as  one  who  smelled  the  battle  from  afar.  Starr  was 
for  going,  most  enthusiastically  for  it;  he  wanted 
another  chance  of  seeing  Benton  in  action.  Maxim 
was  always  to  be  depended  upon ;  he  never  refused 
to  go  with  the  others.  Elsie  smiled  and  did  not 
commit  herself  to  an  opinion.  She  was  a  fatalist.  If 
things  went  well,  she  smiled.  If  they  went  wrong, 
she  was  equally,  perhaps  even  a  little  more,  amused, 
and  smiled  as  enigmatically.  Mabel  giggled  hys- 
terically; her  eyes  shone;  she  held  up  two  fingers, 
the  sign  of  acquiescence.  No  project  was  too  mad  for 
her  to  accept  and  welcome;  the  madder  it  was,  the 
more  enthusiastic  she  grew.  In  her  the  spirit  of 
adventure  still  breathed.  She  was  one  to  whom 
things  always  happened,  for  she  never  refused  Fate's 
invitations.  Fate,  having  invited  her,  usually  .  saw 
her  through  the  affair  with  gallantry.  She  always  es- 
caped unscathed,  preserving  all  the  freshness  of  her 
enthusiasm  and  ingenuousness.  No  one  credited  her 
with  a  history. 

467 


468  THE   HEART   LINE 

Their  plan  had  been  talked  over  and  perfected  for 
some  time.  Mindful  of  Fancy's  warning,  it  had  been 
decided  to  enter  the  place  in  two  groups  and  find 
seats  near  together,  being  careful  to  hold  no  com- 
munication with  each  other. 

Dougal  was  captain  of  the  proposed  exposure.  He 
carried  an  electric  torch  and  was  to  choose  the 
proper  moment  for  attack.  When  he  flashed  the  light 
upon  the  spirit  form  and  rushed  forward  to  seize  the 
actor,  Maxim  was  to  follow  at  his  heels  and  help, 
while  Starr  and  Benton  "interfered"  for  him  as  in  a 
foot-ball  game.  The  girls  were  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves and  watch  everything  that  went  on  so  as  to 
report  the  affair. 

There  was  no  adjournment  to  Champoreau's  that 
night,  for  it  was  necessary  to  be  at  Flora  Flint's  early 
and  attempt  to  get  front  seats.  Half-past  seven  found 
them  at  the  house  on  Van  Ness  Avenue,  where  they 
divided,  Mabel  going  in  with  Dougal  and  Maxim, 
Elsie  with  Starr  and  Benton. 

They  went  up  a  narrow  staircase  covered  with  yel- 
low oil-cloth  and  encountered,  at  the  top,  a  long, 
pale,  tow-headed  youth  with  two  front  teeth  missing. 
He  was  slouching  in  the  hall,  by  a  little  table,  as  if 
attempting  to  hide  the  tallness  and  awkwardness  of 
his  figure.  Collecting  the  entrance  fees  without  a 
word,  he  pointed  to  a  door  and  the  seats  inside. 

The  room  was  square,  and  had  two  windows  upon 
the  street;  it  was  lighted  dimly  from  a  chandelier  in 
the  center,  and  was  crowded  with  chairs  arranged 
on  each  side  of  a  central  aisle.  There  were  already  a 
score  of  visitors,  and  prominent  in  the-  second 
row  was  Mr.  Payson,  solemnly  calm,  impassive,  his 


THE   MATERIALIZING    SEANCE       469 

hands  upon  the  top  of  his  cane.  Vixley  sat  in  front 
and  was  conversing  over  the  back  of  his  chair  with 
Lulu  Ellis.  Dougal  and  his  companions  found  seats 
on  the  end  of  the  fourth  row;  the  others  had  to  go 
farther  back. 

Hung  about  were  the  usual  mottoes,  worked  in 
colored  yarn  on  perforated  cardboard,  and,  in  addi- 
tion, a  notice  warning  visitors  against  disorder.  It 
was  evident  that  the  materializing  business  was  not 
unattended  with  risks.  The  air  was  stuffy  and  smelt 
of  kerosene  oil.  A  curtain  of  black  cambric  was 
stretched  across  one  corner  of  the  room,  between 
the  folding  doors  and  the  mantelpiece,  opposite  the 
windows.  The  hangings  parted  in  the  center,  and 
were  now  draped  up  to  each  side,  revealing  the  in- 
terior of  the  "cabinet." 

Professor  Vixley  rose  to  announce  that  any  one 
wishing  to  examine  the  cabinet  might  do  so,  but  no- 
body seemed  to  think  the  investigation  worth  while. 
He  then  went  on  with  an  audible  conversation  with 
the  plump  Miss  Ellis.  He  described,  first,  the  won- 
derful willingness  of  Little  Starlight,  who  was  fre- 
quently sent  by  Flora  with  astral  messages  to  her 
mother  in  Alaska.  Lulu  played  up  to  him.  She  saw 
spirits  in  the  room  already — an  old  man  was  standing 
by  the  door,  looking  for  some  one.  Another  spirit 
was  sitting  down  beside  that  young  lady  in  green. 
Vixley  regretted  that  he  couldn't  "get"  materializing 
himself,  though  he  had  tried  all  his  life.  He  had 
occasionally  "got"  clairvoyance,  but  it  couldn't  be 
depended  upon.  Clairaudience,  of  course,  was  easier. 
It  could  be  developed  in  any  one  who  had  patience. 
With  his  revolving  mirrors  he  could  guarantee  it  in 


470  THE    HEART   LINE 

a  month.  He  handed  one  of  his  business  cards  to  a 
woman  in  black  who  seemed  interested. 

Flora  Flint,  pretty,  dressed  all  in  black,  came  in 
and  joined  the  conversation.  She  complained  of  being 
tired  and  headachey,  she  had  worked  so  hard  that 
day.  She  stroked  her  forehead  and  rubbed  her  hands, 
but  her  eyes  were  busy  with  her  audience. 

She  hoped  that  Stella  wouldn't  come  to-night; 
Stella  always  "took  it  out  of  her."  That  was  always 
the  way  with  spirits  who  had  lately  "passed  out," 
and  who  were  not  yet  reconciled  to  their  condition. 
Stella  insisted  upon  coming  back  all  the  time  to  com- 
municate with  her  mother — she  was  not  only  hindering 
her  own  "progression"  but  worrying  her  mother  by 
so  doing.  Stella,  moreover,  had  not  yet  learned  the 
Laws  of  Being  on  the  spirit-plane,  and  had  not  accus- 
tomed herself  to  the  principles  of  control.  Why,  it 
was  sometimes  positive  agony  to  be  taken  possession 
of  by  Stella.  She  came  in  with  a  bounce  like,  and  it 
racked  the  medium  all  over;  and  she  didn't  know  how 
to  withdraw  her  foree  gradually  and  easily  the  way 
older  spirits  did.  If  Wampum,  Flora's  Indian  control, 
weren't  always  ready  to  assist  her  it  would  be  some- 
thing terrible.  Indians  had  special  power  over 
physical  conditions.  They  were  Children  of  Nature, 
nearer  to  earth  conditions  than  others.  They  had  more 
magnetism,  and  knew  the  secrets  of  natural  medicine. 
Being  simple  creatures,  they  were  more  easily  sum- 
moned from  the  spirit  sphere — they  hadn't  "pro- 
gressed" so  far,  and  they  were  apt  to  be  still  actuated 
by  the  motives  and  desires  of  the  flesh-plane.  Oh,  yes, 
they  were  often  coarse  and  vulgar,  but  they  meant 
well,  indeed  they  did.  Wampum  was  a  great  help. 


THE    MATERIALIZING    SEANCE       47* 

As  Flora  Flint  talked,  her  eyes  ran  over  the  room, 
looking  carefully  at  her  audience.  Some  she  bowed 
to  smilingly;  on  others  her  glance  rested  with  more 
deliberation.  She  came  back  again  and  again  to 
Dougal  and  Maxim,  and  to  Starr  and  Benton,  in  the 
rear  of  the  room.  She  whispered  to  Vixley,  after 
this  scrutiny,  and  he  went  out  to  hold  a  colloquy  with 
Ringa  in  the  hall.  Soon  after,  Mr.  Spoil  came  in  and 
took  a  seat  between  the  two  groups  of  Pintos.  He 
sat  rigidly  erect,  his  thin,  bony  face  impassive,  with 
only  his  wild  eyes  moving. 

The  Pintos  listened  with  delight  to  Flora's  jargon. 
Starr,  placing  his  note-book  under  his  hat,  on  his 
knees,  made  copious  notes.  Maxim  was  most  im- 
pressed, almost  persuaded  by  the  seriousness  of  the 
dialogue.  Mabel  was  all  ready  to  believe  at  the 
first  promise  of  a  marvel.  Elsie  smiled,  Benton 
yawned,  Dougal  hugged  his  electric  torch  fondly  in- 
side his  coat. 

Madam  Spoil  soon  came  in  and  seated  herself  be- 
tween the  two  windows,  under  a  box  containing  a 
lighted  kerosene  lamp.  Her  face,  usually  so  com- 
placent, was  showing  signs  of  perturbation.  She 
was  nervous,  looking  round  every  little  while  sud- 
denly, running  her  fingers  through  her  short  cropped 
curly  hair,  throwing  her  head  back  as  if  she  found  it 
hard  to  breathe.  She  was  without  a  hat,  and  wore, 
instead  of  her  professional  costume  of  silk  and  beads, 
a  black  cotton  crape  gown. 

Shortly  after  eight  o'clock,  Flora  took  a  chair  in 
front  of  the  cabinet.  Vixley  rose,  fastened  black 
shutters  in  front  of  the  windows,  closed  the  door,  put 
out  the  gas  and  turned  down  the  lamp  in  the  box, 


472  THE   HEART   LINE 

shading  it  with  a  cloth  curtain.  The  room  was  now 
so  dark  that  one  could  scarcely  distinguish  anything, 
until,  when  eyes  became  somewhat  accustomed  to  it, 
figures  indistinct  and  shadowy  could  be  vaguely  recog- 
nized. Flora  Flint  spoke : 

"I  must  ask  you  all  to  keep  perfect  silence,  please. 
The  spirits  won't  manifest  themselves  unless  the  con- 
ditions are  favorable  and  the  circle  is  in  a  receptive 
state.  We  can't  do  anything  unless  there's  harmony, 
and  if  there's  any  antagonistic  vibrations  present 
there's  no  use  attempting  anything  in  the  way  of 
demonstration." 

After  this  prologue,  she  began,  accompanied  by  the 
faithful,  the  dreariest  tune  in  the  world: 

"We  are  watting,  we  are  waiting,  we  are  waiting,  just  now, 
Just  now  we  are  waiting,  we  are  waiting  just  now; 

To  receive  you,  to  receive  you,  to  receive  you  just  now, 
Just  now  to  receive  you,  to  receive  you  just  now. 

Show  your  faces,  show  your  faces,  show  your  faces,  just  now, 
Just  now  show  your  faces,  show  your  faces  just  now! 

Come  and  bless  us,  come  and  bless  us,  come " 

The  fourth  stanza  was  here  interrupted  by  three 
sharp  knocks. 

"Is  that  you,  Starlight?"  the  medium  asked.  Two 
raps  signified  assent.  "Are  you  happy,  to-night?" 
Two  more  knocks. 

"Starlight's  always  happy!"  Vixley  remarked  aloud. 

"Yes,  she  is  a  bright  little  thing,"  the  medium  as- 
sented. "She  passed  out  when  she  was  only  twelve; 
they  say  she's  very  pretty.  Are  there  any  spirits  with 
you,  Starlight?" 


THE   MATERIALIZING    SEANCE       473 

Two  more  raps. 

"Who's  there— Wampum  ?" 

Two  raps  were  given  with  terrific  force.  Every- 
body laughed. 

"Wampum's  feeling  pretty  good,  to-night,"  said 
Vixley. 

"Anybody  else?"  Flora  asked. 

Yes,  some  one  else. 

"Who?     Is  it  Mr.  Jorkins?" 

Yes. 

The  voice  of  a  little  old  dried-up  lady  on  the  front 
row  was  heard,  saying,  "Oh,  that's  Willie!  I'm  so 
glad  he's  come.  Are  you  happy,  Willie?" 

Yes,  Willie  was  happy.  Had  he  seen  Nelly?  Yes, 
he  had  seen  Nelly,  and  Nelly  was  also  happy.  And  so, 
for  a  time,  it  went  on,  like  an  Ollendorf  lesson. 

Starlight  was  then  asked  if  she  could  not  control 
the  medium,  orally.  She  consented,  and  soon,  in  a 
chirping  voice  the  medium  twittered  forth: 

"Hello !  Good  evenin',  folkses !  Oh,.  I'se  so  glad 
to  see  you  all,  I  is !  Hello,  Mis'  Brickett,  you's  got  a 
new  bonnet,  isn't  you?  It's  awfully  nice!  Oh,  I'se 
so  happy.  I  got  some  candy,  too.  It's  spirit  candy; 
it's  lots  better'n  yours."  Here  she  laughed  shrilly 
and  the  company  snickered. 

Mabel  could  scarcely  hold  herself  in  check  and 
had  to  be  pinched.  Starlight  resumed  her  artless 
prattle,  with  Vixley  as  interlocutor.  The  two  ex- 
changed homely  badinage  and  pretended  to  flirt  des- 
perately. But  she  refused  this  time  to  sit  upon 
his  knee.  Finally  an  old  man  asked  if  Walter  were 
there. 

"Well,   I   just  guess!"  said   Starlight.     "He's  my 


474  THE   HEART   LINE 

beau,  he  is!  He  giv'd  me  this  candy.  Want  some?" 
A  chocolate  drop  flew  into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"That's  real  materialized  candy !"  Vixley  explained. 
"We're  liable  to  have  a  good  seance,  to-night!" 

Starlight,  after  giving  a  few  messages,  announced 
that  the  spirits  had  consented  to  materialize,  and  re- 
quested the  company  to  sing.  Flora  went  into  the 
cabinet,  Madam  Spoil  turned  the  light  still  lower,  and 
Vixley,  stating  that  the  medium  would  now  go  into 
a  dead  trance,  took  the  chair  in  front  of  the  cabinet. 
A  doleful  air  was  started  by  the  believers  on  the 
front  seats : 

"I  have  a  father  in  the  spirit  land, 
I  have  a  father  in  the  spirit  land, 
My  father  calls  me,  I  must  go 
To  meet  him  in  the  spirit  land!" 
then, 

"I  have  a  mother  in  the  spirit  land," 

and  so  on,  through  the  whole  family,  brother,  sister 
and  friend. 

The  darkness  was  now  thick  and  velvety.  The  sit- 
ters could  not  see  what  they  touched,  and,  gazing  in- 
tently into  the  void,  their  eyes  filled  it  with  shifting 
colors  and  spots  of  light  conjured  up  by  the  reflex  ac- 
tion of  the  retina,  as  if  their  eyes  were  shut.  As 
the  song  ended,  there  came  an  awed  silence  to  add  to 
the  stifling  darkness  as  they  waited  for  the  first  mani- 
festation from  the  cabinet. 

Then  the  hush  was  broken  by  excited  whispers,  and 
a  tall  form,  dimly  luminous,  was  seen  in  the  opening 
of  the  curtains. 

"Why,  here's  the  Professor!"  said  Vixley,  shatter- 


THE   MATERIALIZING    SEANCE       475 

ing  the  solemnity,  and  making  of  this  advent  a  friendly 
visitation.  "Good  evening,  Professor,  we're  glad  to 
see  you.  It's  good  to  have  you  here  again!" 

A  deep,  slow  voice  replied,  articulating  its  words 
painfully,  "Good  eve-ning,  friends,  I'm  ver-y  glad  to 
be  here  to-night!"  Every  word  was  chopped  into 
distinct  syllables.  The  figure  moved  forward  a  little. 
It  was  a  typical  ghost,  a  vague,  unearthly,  draped 
figure,  wavering,  indistinct.  The  face  melted  into 
amorphous  shadows.  It  glided  here  and  there  noise- 
lessly. 

The  Professor  was  an  affable  celebrity,  but  some- 
what verbose.  He  spoke  to  several  of  the  company 
by  name,  and  interspersed  his  greetings  with  jocular 
remarks  to  Little  Starlight  who  was  supposed  to  be 
flitting  invisibly  about  the  room.  "She's  a  lit-tul  dar- 
link,  ev-ery-bod-y  loves  lit-tul  Star-light,"  he  said,  in 
answer  to  Vixley's  comment. 

He  retreated  silently  to  the  cabinet,  and  the  cur- 
tains closed  upon  him.  Some  one  asked  if  they 
couldn't  see  the  "Egyptian  Hand"  and  Starlight's 
voice  from  the  cabinet  gave  assent.  Forthwith  it  ap- 
peared and  made  a  hurried  circle  of  the  front  part 
of  the  room,  shedding  a  ghostly,  phosphorescent  glow, 
and,  on  its  way,  patting  the  heads  of  the  faithful. 

"Oh,  I  feel  something  so  nice  and  soft !"  cried  Mrs. 
Brickett.  "It's  perfectly  'eavenly — right  on  top  of  my 
head — what  is  it?" 

"That's  hair!"  Starlight  called  out 

The  Professor  bellowed  from  the  cabinet,  "Oh,  ho, 
ho,  ho!  You  must-unt  mind  lit-tul  Star-light!  She's 
so  love-ly  we  don't  mind  her,  do  we?" 

Vixfcy  gave  the  cue  for  another  song  to  cover  the 


476  THE   HEART   LINE 

next  entrance.  This  time  it  was  My  Bonnie  Lies 
Over  The  Ocean,  its  special  appositeness  seeming 
to  lie  in  the  line,  "Oh,  bring  J>ack  my  Bonnie  to  me !" 

Another  shorter  form  appeared  and  stood  wavering 
in  front  of  the  curtains,  then,  without  a  word,  with- 
drew. 

"That's  Stella,"  said  Vixley.  "She's  only  come  to 
get  progression.  She  ain't  very  strong  yet,  so  she 
can't  stay  but  a  minute,  but  we're  always  glad  to  see 
her  and  help  her  along  all  we  can  with  our  thought." 

A  woman,  with  a  sob,  rose  to  go  forward. 

"No,  not  to-night,  Mrs.  Seeley;  the  medium  ain't 
strong  enough !"  said  Vixley. 

How  he  recognized  these  spectral  visitors  nobody 
asked.  They  looked  just  alike,  except,  perhaps,  for 
height ;  all  were  wavering,  white  and  mysterious^  with- 
out distinguishable  faces.  At  the  entrance  of  another, 
like  all  the  rest,  Professor  Vixley  startled  the  com- 
pany by  saying,  suavely  and  patronizingly: 

"This  is  Mr.  McKinley,  friends.  It's  good  to  see 
you,  Mr.  McKinley.  I'm  glad  you  come.  We're 
always  glad  to  see  you.  Come  again,  come  any  time 
you  feel  like  it."  He  explained,  after  the  spirit  van- 
ished, that  Mr.  McKinley  had  had  great  difficulty  in 
finding  any  medium  sympathetic  enough  for  him  to 
control,  and  he  wandered  from  circle  to  circle,  hoping 
to  establish  communication  with  the  earth-plane. 

The  next  visitor  was  no  less  than  Queen  Victoria. 
"That's  good!"  said  Vixley,  "we're  awful  glad  to 
see  you,  sure!"  It  now  transpired  that  the  spirits 
whispered  their  names  to  him  in  entering.  His  con- 
versation became  a  bit  dreary  and  monotonous  and  he 
failed  to  rise  to  his  obvious  opportunities. 


THE  MATERIALIZING  SEANCE     477 

A  few  forms,  after  this,  came  farther  from  the 
cabinet,  and  their  friends  were  permitted  to  embrace 
them.  These  favored  few  sat  on  the  front  seats. 
Whispered  dialogues  took  place — innocuous  talk  of 
trouble^  and  happiness,  perturbed  commonplaces  that, 
had  they  not  been  sometimes  accompanied  with  gen- 
uine tears,  would  have  been  nothing  but  ridiculous. 
The  spirits  were  all  optimistic  and  willing  to  help. 
Their  advice,  usually,  consisted  of  the  statement  that 
"conditions  would  soon  be  more  favorable."  At  inter- 
vals the  singers  broke  out  into  new  songs,  There's  a 
Land  that  is  Fairer  than  Day — Nearer,  My  God,  to 
Thee ! — and  so  on.  The  air  became  oppressively  close. 
The  audience  began  to  whisper,  cough  and  shuffle. 
Mabel,  desirous  of  excitement,  had  nudged  Dougal 
again  and  again,  but  he  had  muttered  "Not  yet!"  at 
each  hint. 

The  song  Over  There  had  just  ended,  and  the  hush 
of  expectancy  had  fallen  over  the  company  when 
another  form  appeared  and  took  a  step  towards  Vix- 
ley. 

"She  says  her  name  is  Felicia,"  he  announced. 
"Does  anybody  recognize  her?" 

"I  do!"  an  unctuously  mellow  voice  replied. 

"She  says  she  has  a  message  for  you,"  said  Vixley, 
"but  she  don't  want  to  give  it  out  loud  before  all  these 
people .  Will  you  come  up  here?" 

Mr.  Payson  made  his  way  with  difficulty,  in  the 
dark,  past  those  on  his  row  and  came  forward. 

"You  can  touch  her,  if  you  want  to;  she's  com- 
pletely materialized.  Very  strong  indeed  for  one 
outside  Flora's  band.  She  ain't  got  much  vitality, 
though,  and  you  mustn't  tax  her  too  much." 


478  THE   HEART   LINE 

The  old  man  reached  forward  and  touched  a  cold 
hand. 

"Is  it  you,  Felicia?"  he  asked  tremulously. 

"Yes,  dear!"  was  the  answer,  in  a  thick,  hoarse 
whisper.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  here.  You  must  come 
often.  I've  tried  so  hard  to  get  you.  I  want  to  help 
you." 

"You  have  a  message  for  me?" 

She  whispered,  "Yes;  it's  about  the  child." 

"What  is  it?"    His  voice  was  eager. 

"I've  found  him." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  I've  longed  so  to  find  him  and 
do  what  was  right  by  him.  You  know,  don't  you?" 
All  this  was  spoken  so  low  that  but  few  could  make 
out  the  words. 

"Yes,  I  know.    I  know  you  love  him." 

"Where  is  he,  Felicia?" 

"He's  in  this  city.  I  shall  bring  him  to  you.  Then 
we'll  be  so  happy,  all  three  of  us — you  and  I  and  our 
dear  son!" 

Payson's  voice  rang  out  sharply  in  an  angry  excla- 
mation : 

"It's  all  a  damned  fraud!"  he  cried.  "This  is  not 
a  spirit  at  all !"  He  took  a  step  forward. 

On  the  instant,  before  even  Vixley  could  move, 
Dougal  had  jumped  up  and  run  forward.  As  he 
dashed  up  the  aisle  he  pressed  the  key  of  his  electric 
torch  and  cast  a  bright  light  upon  the  group  by  the 
cabinet  The  draped  form  had  started  back,  Payson 
faced  her,  Vixley  had  risen  from  his  chair  fiercely, 
Flora  Flint's  startled  face  peered  through  the  curtains. 

"Come  on,  Max !"  Dougal  shouted,  and  threw  him- 
self bodily  upon  the  person  wrapped  in  the  sheet. 


THE   MATERIALIZING   SEANCE       479 

Maxim  grappled  at  almost  the  same  time,  but  before 
him  Vixley  sprang  in  and  rained  blow  after  blow 
upon  Dougal,  who  fell,  dropping  his  torch.  Vixley 
then  locked  with  Maxim.  Starr  and  Benton  had  run 
up,  hurtling  past  Spoil,  who  had  risen  to  block  the 
way.  They  were  just  too  late  to  save  Dougal,  who 
had  fallen,  still  holding  his  captive  fast.  It  was  too 
dark  to  see  what  was  happening,  but  Vixley's  oaths 
led  them  on,  crashing  over  chairs,  creeping  and  fight- 
ing through  the  now  terrified  crowd.  A  match  was 
struck  somewhere  behind  them,  and,  before  it  flared 
out,  Starr  and  Benton  fell  on  Vixley  together  and 
bore  him  to  the  floor. 

The  room  was  now  horrid  with  confusion.  A 
racket  of  moving  chairs  told  that  every  one  had  arisen 
in  panic.  Women  screamed,  and  there  was  a  rush 
for  the  door.  It  seemed  hours  before  there  was  a 
light,  then  Madam  Spoil  reached  up  and  turned  up 
the  light.  At  that  moment  Ringa  flew  past  her — she 
was  thrown  down  and  the  lamp  fell  crashing  upon 
the  seat  of  a  chair  beside  her.  There  was  an  explosion 
on  the  instant.  She  was  drenched  with  blazing  oil, 
and  the  flames  enveloped  her. 

Her  screams  rose  over  the  tumult  so  piercingly 
that  every  one  turned,  saw  her,  and  fell  back  in  fear 
and  terror.  She  clambered  to  her  feet  clumsily, 
shrieking  in  agony,  ran  for  the  door,  tore  it  open  and 
fled  down-stairs,  to  fall  heavily  at  the  bottom,  writh- 
ing. 

Benton  was  that  moment  free,  and  the  only  man 
to  keep  his  senses.  He  burst  right  through  the  room, 
throwing  men  and  women  to  right  and  left  and  broke 
out  the  door  after  her,  and  down  the  stairs,  tearing  a 


480  THE   HEART    LINE 

table-cloth  from  a  table  as  he  ran  through  the  hall. 
He  wrapped  it  about  her,  the  flames  scorching  his 
face  and  hands  as  he  did  so.  The  woman  was 
struggling  so  in  her  blind  terror  and  torture  that  it 
was  for  a  moment  impossible  to  help  her.  Then,  in  a 
few  heroic  moments  he  conquered  the  fire.  At  last  he 
called  to  the  crowd  above  for  help,  and  they  carried 
her  up  into  a  small  side  room  and  laid  her  upon  a 
bed. 

Starr,  meanwhile,  still  clung  to  Vixley  while  Maxim 
had  held  Ringa  off.  Spoil  was  busy  extinguishing 
the  fire  on  the  carpet.  Then  some  one  at  last  lighted 
the  chandelier,  showing  a  score  of  white,  frenzied 
faces,  men  and  women  in  wild  disarray,  chairs  broken 
and  strewn  upon  the  floor,  a  smoking,  blackened  place 
on  the  carpet  where  the  remains  of  the  lamp  had 
fallen.  The  room  smelled  horribly. 

Vixley  lay  in  a  welter  of  ornaments  that  had  been 
swept  from  the  mantel  in  his  struggle,  He  was  still 
cursing. 

Dougal  had  held  his  captive  fast  through  all  that 
turmoil,  yelling  continuously  for  a  light.  Now 
Mabel  and  Elsie,  who  had  flattened  themselves  against 
the  wall,  joining  their  screams  to  the  din,  crept 
trembling  up  to  him  to  see  what  he  had  caught.  He 
turned  the  limp  figure  in  his  arms  and  sought  amongst 
the  folds  of  the  sheet,  and  turned  them  away  at  the 
face.  Elsie  gave  a  little  cry. 

It  was  Fancy  Gray. 


He  sought  amongst  the  folds  of  the  sheet        Page  4.80 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

A    RETURN    TO    INSTINCT 

Clytie  Payson  had  come  home  after  a  two  weeks' 
stay  at  Lonely  with  Mrs.  Maxwell,  poised,  resolute, 
calm.  She  seemed  sustained  by  some  inward  faith 
manifesting  itself  only  in  a  higher  degree  of  self- 
consciousness,  as  of  one  inspired  by  a  purpose. 

At  breakfast,  on  the  morning  after  the  materializing 
seance,  Mr.  Payson  read  the  morning  journal  inter- 
estedly, so  intensely  absorbed  in  its  columns  that  he 
scarcely  spoke  to  his  daughter.  But  he  did  not  men- 
tion the  evening's  event,  and  was  moody  and  morose. 

The  affair  had  received  an  extensive  notice.  Madam 
Spoil,  it  seemed,  still  lingered  at  the  point  of  death. 
Although  Mr.  Payson's  name  was  not  mentioned, 
he  was  much  disturbed  and  apprehensive  of  publicity. 
Clytie,  noticing  his  abstraction,  did  not  disturb  him 
with  questions. 

After  her  father  had  left  the  house  she  went  up  to 
her  workroom,  put  on  her  pink  pinafore  and  com- 
menced her  bookbinding.  She  worked  at  the  bench 
near  the  window  where  she  could  occasionally  look 
out  upon  the  shadows  that  swept  over  Mount  Tamal- 
pais.  The  day  was  alternately  bright  and  lowering; 
it  promised  rain  before  night. 

At  ten,  as  she  was  pausing  from  her  work,  with  a 
lingering  look  out  into  her  garden,  she  saw  a  young 
woman  coming  up  the  path.  It  was  Fancy  Gray, 
looking  about  her  as  if  uncertain  whether  or  not  she 

481 


482  THE   HEART   LINE 

had  found  the  right  place.  Fancy  wore  a  black-and- 
white  shepherd's  plaid  suit,  bright  and  tightly-fitted, 
which  picked  her  out,  in  an  errant  glance  of  sunshine, 
against  the  dull  green  shrubbery.  She  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  the  sun-dial,  raising  her  white- 
gloved  hand  to  her  red  and  white  hat,  then  passed  on 
toward  the  house,  out  of  sight. 

Clytie  went  down-stairs  herself  to  answer  the  bell, 
and  opened  the  door  with  a  look  of  pleasure  on  her 
face. 

Fancy  hesitated.    "Are  you  busy,  Miss  Payson  ?" 

"Of  course  not!"  Clytie  held  out  both  her  hands. 
"If  I  were,  I'd  be  so  glad  to  have  you  interrupt  me, 
Miss  Gray.  Do  come  in!  How  charming  you  look! 
I'm  so  glad  to  see  you." 

Fancy  accepted  the  welcome,  looking  long  into 
Clytie's  eyes,  as  if  she  expected  to  find  in  them  some- 
thing of  special  significance.  Her  own  were  steady, 
and  had  in  them  an  evidence  of  resolve. 

"I've  been  hoping  you'd  come  to  see  me,  Miss 
Gray,"  Clytie  began. 

Fancy  stopped  on  the  threshold. 

"Fancy  Gray,  please !"  she  corrected,  with  an  elu- 
sive smile. 

"Fancy  Gray — I'm  glad  to  be  permitted  to  use 
such  a  lovely  name." 

"Make  it  Fancy,  straight.  Then  I'll  be  more 
natural.  I'm  always  stiff  and  stupid  when  people  call 
me  Miss  Gray.  I  always  feel  as  if  they  were  talking 
about  me  behind  my  back."  Fancy's  smile  broke  out 
now,  as  if  in  spite  of  herself. 

"I'd  love  to  call  you  Fancy !  It's  good  of  you  to  let 
me!"  Clytie  answered. 


A   RETURN    TO    INSTINCT  483 

Her  smile  was  as  delicious,  in  this  gallant  inter- 
change. Fancy's  smile  seemed  as  much  a  part  of 
her  natural  expression  as  the  brightness  of  her  open 
eyes ;  it  was  embracing,  like  a  baby's.  Clytie's  had  the 
effect  of  a  particularly  gracious  favor,  almost  a  con- 
descension, a  special  gift  of  the  moment. 

Fancy  stopped  again  at  the  entrance  to  the  library. 

"Say,  this  is  awfully  orderly,"  she  said,  "haven't 
you  got  some  place  that  isn't  so  tidy  and  clean?  I'm 
afraid  I  wouldn't  be  comfortable  here,  and  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Clytie  looked  at  her  amusedly.  "So  you're  one  of 
those  persons  who  think  dust  is  artistic?  Come  up 
into  my  workroom,  then.  You'll  find  that  untidy 
enough." 

Up-stairs  they  went,  to  the  workroom. 

"My!"  said  Fancy.  "If  you  call  this  place  untidy, 
you  ought  to  see  my  room!  Why,  it's  as  neat  as  a 
pin!"  She  entered,  nevertheless,  and  looked  about 
her  with  curiosity  at  everything. 

"Haven't  you  a  looking-glass  here?"  she  asked  in 
astonishment. 

"No,  but  I'll  get  you  one." 

Fancy  laughed.  "I  couldn't  live  an  hour  without  a 
mirror,"  she  confessed.  "You're  really  queer,  aren't 
you!  And  you  don't  even  wear  jewelry!  I'm  afraid 
modesty  isn't  my  favorite  stunt.  It's  very  becoming 
to  you,  though.  I  suppose  it  doesn't  go  with  painted 
hair."  She  sighed. 

"I  don't  believe  that  even  you  could  improve  on 
nature,  Fancy!" 

"I'm  sure  nature  intended  me  for  a  blonde,  and  got 
careless.  Did  you  ever  know  a  brunette  who  didn't 


484  THE   HEART   LINE 

want  to  be  a  blonde  ?"  She  looked  at  Clytie's  tawny 
hair  with  evident  admiration. 

Clytie  shook  her  head,  smiling.  "I'd  give  you  my 
hair  for  your  complexion." 

"Done !"  Fancy  rubbed  her  handkerchief  across  her 
pink  cheeks,  and  handed  the  bit  of  cambric  to  Clytie. 
After  this  comedy  pantomime,  she  took  the  little  silver 
watch  from  her  chatelaine  pin,  opened  the  back  door, 
where,  inside,  was  a  bright  and  shiny  surface,  and 
regarded  her  face,  pouting.  Then  she  looked  across 
at  Clytie. 

"You're  so  pretty,  Miss  Payson!  You're  four 
times  and  a  half  as  pretty  as  I  am !" 

Clytie  ventured  to  touch  her  little  finger  to  the  dent 
in  Fancy's  upper  lip.  Fancy  retreated  a  step.  "My 
dear,"  Clytie  asserted,  "if  I  had  that,  I'd  be  sure  that 
men  would  be  crazy  for  me  till  I  was  seventy  years 
old!" 

Fancy  shook  her  head.  "I  guess  I  can't  beat  that. 
That's  what  Gay  calls  'the  pink  penultimate.'  And 
the  worst  of  it  is,  I  suppose  it's  true !  But  I'll  never 
be  seventy  if  I  can  help  it."  She  turned  away,  sud- 
denly grown  serious.  The  room  grew  dark.  It  was 
as  if  Fancy's  mood  had  turned  off  the  sunshine. 

"What  are  you  doing,  now?"  Clytie  asked. 

"Oh,  just  drifting."    Fancy's  voice  was  not  hopeful. 

Clytie  took  her  hand.  "Why  don't  you  come  here 
and  stay  with  me  for  a  while  ?  I'd  love  to  have  you." 

Fancy  gently  released  her  fingers  in  Clyde's  and  did 
not  look  at  her. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  quite  so  kind  to  me, 
Miss  Payson ;  I  can't  stand  it !"  Her  mouth  trembled ; 
her  gaze  was  serious. 


A   RETURN   TO   INSTINCT  485 

"But  it  would  be  so  kind  of  you  to  come !"  Clytie 
urged. 

Fancy  smiled  wanly.  "I  can't  do  it,  Miss  Payson. 
I  won't  explain.  I  never  explain.  It  bores  me.  But 
I  simply  can't." 

"Well,  you  know,  if  you  ever  do  want  to  come — " 

"I'll  come,  sure!"  Fancy  looked  at  her  now,  with 
fire  in  her  eyes,  not  flaming,  but  burning  deep. 
"Whenever  I  forget  what  a  thoroughbred  is  like,  I'll 
come!  Whenever  I  need  a  teaspoonful  of  flattery  to 
last  me  over  night,  I'll  come!  Whenever  I  want  to 
know  how  much  finer  and  kinder  women  are  than 
men,  I'll  come!  Whenever — " 

She  would  have  gone  on,  but  Clytie  interrupted  her. 
"Whenever  you  want  to  make  me  very  happy,  when- 
ever you  want  to  do  me  the  greatest  favor  in  your 
power,  you'll  come!" 

Fancy's  eyes  narrowed  and  twinkled.  "I'm  all  out 
of  breath  trying  to  keep  up  with  you !  I  give  it  up. 
Take  the  pot!"  She  turned  to  the  bench  and  exam- 
ined the  tools  in  a  box. 

"Ugh !"  she  commented.  "They  look  like  dentists' 
instruments !" 

"I  don't  believe  you  ever  had  to  suffer  from  them ! 
It  doesn't  seem  possible!"  said  Clytie. 

In  response,  Fancy  engagingly  showed  her  double 
row  of  small,  white,  zigzag  teeth.  Then,  with  a 
sudden  access  of  frivolity,  she  favored  Clytie  with  an 
exhibition  of  her  little,  pointed  tongue,  which  she 
erected  and  waved  sidewise.  This  done,  she  dropped 
into  a  chair  again.  The  sun  had  returned  and  visited 
the  room,  making  a  brilliant  object  of  her  jaunty 
figure  as  she  sat  under  the  window.  She  wore  the 


486  THE   HEART   LINE 

fine  gold  chain  with  the  swastika  that  Clytie  had 
given  her.  She  fingered  it  as  she  spoke. 

"Miss  Payson,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  to  ask  you 
something  that  perhaps  is  none  of  my  business." 

"Ask  what  you  please,"  said  Clytie,  but  she  looked 
at  Fancy  with  something  like  alarm. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Granthope  lately?" 

Clytie  shook  her  head.     "No." 

"Could  you  tell  me  why  not?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't,  Fancy." 

"I'm  terribly  worried  about  it.  I'm  sure  there's 
some  trouble.  Oh,  Miss  Payson,  I  know  he's  awfully 
unhappy.  And  I  can't  bear  that !" 

Clytie  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  stand- 
ing there  with  her  hands  behind  her  back.  There 
was  a  faint  line  come  into  her  forehead.  "I'd  rather 
not  talk  about  it,"  she  said  quietly. 

"But  I'm  sure  that  if  there  is  any  misunderstanding, 
I  might  help  you.  Oh,  Miss  Payson,  I  don't  want  to 
be  impertinent,  but  I  can't  bear  it  to  think  that  he 
isn't  happy.  Can't  you  tell  me  about  it?" 

Clytie  turned  slowly,  a  look  of  pain  deepening  on 
her  face.  "I  can  only  tell  you  this,  that  I  was  mis- 
taken in  him." 

"Mistaken?    How?" 

"Not  in  quality,  so  much  as  in  quantity,  if  you 
know  what  I  mean.  I  know  what  he's  capable  of, 
what  he  has  done,  and  what  he  can  do.  I  don't  feel 
any  anger  or  resentment,  for  what  I  know,  now,  that 
he  has  done.  I  feel  only  pity  and  sorrow  for  him." 

"But  what  has  he  done?  That's  just  what  I  want 
to  know.  You  mean  that  it  was  something  definite?" 

"Yes." 


A   RETURN    TO    INSTINCT  487 

"And — you  believed  it  of  him?"  Fancy  could  not 
restrain  her  surprise. 

"I  had  to  believe  it.  Oh,  Fancy,  don't  you  under- 
stand ?  It  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  no  woman  could 
forget.  It  was  of  no  importance  except  as  showing 
that  he  wasn't  so  far  along  as  I  had  thought.  It 
merely  means  that  I'll  have  to  wait  for  him.  And  I 
shall  wait  for  him.  I'm  so  sure  of  him  that  I  can 
wait,  though  it  hurt  so  at  first  that  I  couldn't  possibly 
see  him.  That's  all." 

Fancy  bit  her  lip.  There  was  a  little,  determined 
shake  of  her  head  that  Clytie  did  not  see.  "Miss 
Payson,"  she  said,  "you  must  tell  me  what  it  was. 
I've  heard  Professor  Vixley  say  a  thing  or  two  that 
aroused  my  suspicions."  She  went  on  slowly,  with  an 
effort.  "I  know  that  Frank  adores  you — that  he  has, 
ever  since  that  night  you  came  with  him  to  his  office, 
after  his  accident." 

"Oh,  but  this  was  after  that,"  Clytie  said  wearily. 
"It  was  something  he  told  Vixley." 

"After  that!  Why,  Frank  hasn't  had  anything  to 
do  with  Vixley  or  Madam  Spoil  since  then,  except  to 
try  to  get  them  to  leave  your  father  alone." 

"I  saw  his  own  handwriting,  Fancy;  the  very 
notes  of  what  I  had  talked  about  to  him — even  the 
little  intimate  things — they  nearly  killed  me.  And 
Professor  Vixley  told  me  himself  that  Frank  had  been 
giving  him  information  right  along,  up  to  only  a  few 
weeks  ago — while  we  had  been  so  happy  together — 
oh,  to  think  of  it !" 

Fancy's  face  had  varied  in  phase,  like  the  opening 
and  shutting  of  the  clouds.  Now  it  was  eager,  rapt. 
"Oh,  I  understand,  now!"  she  cried,  jumping  up. 


488  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Why,  Miss  Payson,  Vixley  can  no  more  be  trusted 
than  a  gambler !  Don't  you  know  that  he's  wild  with 
Frank?  Vixley's  got  it  in  for  him;  he  is  trying  to 
ruin  him !  Don't  you  know  that  Frank  has  been 
trying  to  buy  him  off,  just  to  save  your  father  from 
being  cheated  by  them?  Why,  Frank  offered  Vixley 
a  thousand  dollars  to  leave  town,  only  last  week. 
Vixley  told  me  so  himself !" 

"A  thousand  dollars?  That's  impossible."  Cly- 
tie's  voice  was  still  hopeless. 

"I  can't  imagine  where  he  got  the  money,  but  he 
had  it  with  him.  in  cash.  Vixley  said  so." 

"How  long  ago  was  that?" 

"Two  weeks  ago,  about." 

Clytie  reflected.  "I  saw  Frank  on  the  platform 
at  Stockton,  two  weeks  ago.  I  wonder — " 

"Yes,  it  was  the  day  after  he  got  back,  I  remember 
now." 

"Oh!"  Clytie's  face  lightened  as  if  another  person 
had  come  into  the  room.  She  looked  away,  as  if  to 
greet  an  unseen  visitor.  Her  hand  was  raised  deli- 
cately. "I  see."  Her  voice  came  suddenly,  definitely. 
Then  she  stared  hard  at  Fancy.  "Oh,  Fancy,  I'm 
almost  frightened  at  it!  I  don't  dare  to  believe  it. 
Oh,  if  Fve  made  a  mistake  in  suspecting  him.  If  I've 
accused  him  to  myself  unjustly,  how  can  I  ever  bear 
it !  But  I  saw  those  notes — " 

"And  you  didn't  ask  him  to  explain  them?"  Fancy 
spoke  very  slowly.  She  did  not  accuse,  she  only  won- 
dered. 

"No."  Clytie's  tone  had  dropped  low,  and  she  went 
on,  fluttering  hurriedly.  "I  simply  went  away.  Oh, 
think  of  it — it  was  as  melodramatic  as  a  play — that's 


A  RETURN   TO    INSTINCT  489 

the  way  women  do  on  the  stage,  isn't  it?  But  you 
see,  I  did  know  awful  things  about  him,  Fancy — he 
had  told  me,  and  I  suspected  more.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  notes  about  my  present  to  father,  and 
his  birthday  had  only  just  passed:  That  proved  to 
me  that  Frank's  notes  had  been  made  recently,  I 
thought." 

Fancy  looked  at  her  with  a  quizzical  expression. 
"I  knew  a  fellow  once  who  used  to  call  me  a  marmoset. 
I  guess  that's  what  you  are,  you  poor  dear!  Why, 
Frank  told  me  about  your  binding  a  book  for  your 
father  the  day  he  first  came  here.  You  must  have 
spoken  of  it  then." 

"I  did!"  Clytie  fairly  threw  out.  "I  remember  it 
now!  And  that  was  before — before  he  really  knew 
me,  wasn't  it!  Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  Fancy?"  Her 
look  was,  for  the  moment,  as  helpless  as  a  child's. 

"Do?"  Fancy  repeated,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"Why,  the  telephone  wires  are  still  working,  aren't 
they?"  She  spoke  a  bit  dryly.  She  had  done  her 
work,  now,  and  relapsed  into  a  sort  of  apathy. 

"And  I  prided  myself  on  my  intuition,  and  on  my 
fairness!"  Clytie  went  on,  unheeding  her.  "I  knew 
that  I  saw  in  him  what  no  one  else  saw — not  even  you, 
who  knew  him  so  well,  and  who  wouldn't  suspect  him 
of  anything  so  base  as  that!  To  think  of  my  being 
the  victim  of  such  a  claptrap  trick !" 

Fancy  raised  her  eyebrows  and  watched  her  quietly. 
"What  I  can't  understand  now,  is  why  you're  wasting 
your  time  talking  about  it." 

Clytie  stared  at  her,  her  face  still  shadowed  by  her 
emotion.  Then  her  smile  came  rapturously.  She 
turned  and  ran  down-stairs  to  the  telephone. 


490  THE    HEART    LINE 

Fancy  walked  to  the  window  forlornly.  There  she 
leaned  her  head  on  her  arm  against  the  pane  and  shut 
her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  fatigued.  It  was  black  in 
the  west,  and  the  Marin  shore  was  shrouded  in  the 
murk.  The  harbor  was  covered  with  dancing  white- 
caps.  The  storm  was  imminent.  She  stayed  there, 
motionless,  until  Clyde's  step  was  heard  coming  up, 
then  started  into  life  again  and  gave  herself  a  shake. 

"He's  coming  right  up!"  Clytie  announced. 

Fancy  immediately  looked  at  the  blue  enameled  dial 
of  her  little  silver  watch.  "Well,  I  must  be  going." 

"Oh,  please  stay!"  Clytie  exclaimed,  holding  her 
tightly.  "I  really  want  you  to,  so !  It's  you  who  have 
done  it  all." 

Fancy  smiled  at  last,  and  released  herself.  "Yes, 
I've  spent  my  life  in  straightening  out  other  people's 
snarls,"  she  said.  "Sometime  I  hope  some  one  will  be 
able  to  straighten  mine.  But  I've  got  a  date,  really." 

"Oh,  do  tell  me  that  you're  as  happy  as  I  am,"  Clytie 
exclaimed.  "I've  been  so  selfish,  I'm  afraid!  I 
don't  know  who  he  is,  but  I'm  sure  he  must  be  fine, 
if  you  care  for  him.  How  I  wish  I  could  help  you, 
dear!" 

"The  only  way  you  could,  I'm  afraid,  is  by  lending 
me  some  of  your  brains — and  I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't 
fit  my  noddle.  He's  awfully  clever,  and  I  feel  like  a 
fool  when  I'm  with  him." 

"But  you  do  really  love  him,  don't  you?"  Clytie 
asked  anxiously. 

Fancy  nodded  gravely.  "I  guess  yes.  As  much 
as  I  can  love  anybody.  I'm  afraid  of  him.  That's 
one  sign,  isn't  it?" 

"And  you  can't  tell  me  who  he  is?" 


A   RETURN   TO    INSTINCT  491 

"Not  yet" 

"Fancy,  when  you're  married,  I'll  give  you  a  wed- 
ding." 

"I  accept!"  said  Fancy  Gray. 

She  turned  to  go,  but  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  she 
could  hardly  make  up  her  mind  to  ask  the  question, 
yet  couldn't  go  without  asking  it.  "Miss  Payson,"  she 
said  finally,  "did  you  tell  Frank  that  I  had  been  here  ?" 

"Of  course  I  did !" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  that  it  was  like  you.  That  you  always 
played  fair." 

"Good-by !"  Fancy  said,  and  suddenly  breaking 
through  the  reserve  that  had  so  far  constrained  her, 
she  laid  her  cheek  for  a  moment  to  Clytie's. 

Clytie  kissed  her.  The  two  walked  down-stairs 
arm  in  arm.  At  the  front  door  Fancy  paused  and 
said: 

"Take  my  advice,  Miss  Payson,  and  don't  explain. 
Never  explain.  If  you  once  get  into  that  habit  you're 
lost.  It  only  wastes  time.  Get  right  down  to  business 
and  stay  there.  Your  head  belongs  on  his  shoulder, 
remember  that.  All  Frank  will  want  to  know  is  what 
you're  going  to  do  next.  Keep  him  guessing,  my  dear, 
but  never  explain!  Now,  I'm  going  to  try  and  get 
home  before  it  rains." 

She  turned  up  her  collar,  gave  a  quick  toss  to  her 
head,  and  walked  rapidly  down  the  garden  path.  At 
the  gate  she  turned,  gaily  gave  a  mock-military  salute, 
a  relic  of  her  old  vaudeville  manner,  then  ran  down  the 
steps. 

Clytie  watched  her  till  she  had  disappeared.  Then 
she  went  up-stairs  and  changed  her  frock. 


492  THE   HEART    LINE 

Fancy's  sage  advice  was  wasted.  There  were  expla- 
nations, a  torrent  of  them,  when  Francis  Granthope 
came,  explanations  voluble,  apologetic,  impetuous, 
half-tragic,  semi-humorous.  The  equilibrium  of 
Clytie's  mind  was  completely  overturned  and  its  re- 
adjustment came  only  after  a  prolonged  talk.  Every 
trace  of  the  priestess,  the  princess,  the  divinity  was 
gone  forever,  now.  She  was  more  like  a  mother  re- 
joicing at  the  restoration  of  a  lost  child,  for  whose 
absence  she  blamed  her  own  neglect  and  carelessness. 
It  was  all  too  delightful  for  Granthope  to  wish  to  cut 
it  short.  He  was  hungry  for  her. 

He,  too,  had  his  explanations  and  his  news.  For 
two  weeks  his  hands  had  been  tied.  Clytie  had  dis- 
appeared from  his  ken,  and  he  had  had  no  way  of 
tracing  her,  for  it  was  useless  to  telephone  to  the 
house  or  to  ask  of  her  father.  There  had  been  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  wait  in  the  hope  that  whatever  had 
caused  the  interruption  would  come  right  of  itself. 
He  had  never  really  felt  sure  of  Clytie — her  accept- 
ance of  him  had  seemed  too  wonderful  to  be  true,  a 
fortune  to  which  he  was  not  really  entitled,  and 
which  he  might  lose  any  instant.  Whether  or  not 
Vixley  or  Madam  Spoil  had  effected  the  separation, 
he  had  no  way  of  determining. 

He  told  then  of  his  trip  to  Stockton  where,  by  es- 
tablishing his  identity  by  means  of  the  finger-prints, 
he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  possession  of  the  money 
he  had  deposited  there  so  many  years  ago.  This 
had  amounted,  with  interest,  to  several  thousand  dol- 
lars. He  had  gone  immediately  to  Vixley  to  seal  the 
bargain  they  had  made,  but  the  Professor  had  abso- 
lutely refused  to  accept  any  payment  for  leaving  town. 


A   RETURN    TO    INSTINCT  493 

Indeed,  he  had  hinted  that  he  had  schemes  on  foot 
which  would  bring  him  an  income  that  Granthope 
could  not  hope  to  rival.  How  matters  stood  between 
Mr.  Payson  and  the  mediums,  neither  Granthope  nor 
Clytie  knew.  They  had  not  yet  heard  of  the  material- 
izing seance,  and  the  situation  was,  so  far  as  they 
knew,  the  same  as  before.  It  was  agreed  that  there 
must  be  another  attempt  to  rescue  Mr.  Payson,  and 
this  time  through  Doctor  Masterson,  who  was  prob- 
ably venal. 

Granthope,  meanwhile,  however,  had  perfected  his 
plans.  He  had  sufficient  money,  now,  to  warrant  his 
devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  medicine,  a  project 
he  had  so  long  contemplated  that,  with  the  start  he 
had  already  made,  would  make  it  possible  for  him 
to  practise  in  two  or  three  years.  He  had,  therefore, 
abandoned  all  idea  of  going  upon  the  stage.  Clytie 
approved  of  this  with  considerable  relief.  The  pros- 
pect of  reviving  gossip  by  Granthope's  appearance 
as  an  actor  had  caused  her  much  dread.  They  had 
already  been  much  talked  about.  Society  had  dis- 
cussed them  until  it  had  grown  tired.  Nothing  was 
sensational  enough  to  last  long  as  an  object  of  curi- 
osity in  San  Francisco,  and  a  half-dozen  other  affairs 
had  caused  them  to  be  almost  forgotten. 

After  this  first  flurry  of  talk,  in  which  she  had 
come  down  from  that  lofty  spiritual  altitude  where 
she  had  dwelt  for  the  last  two  weeks,  she  was  sheer 
woman,  thrilling  to  his  words  and  to  the  sense  of  his 
nearness.  As  they  had  progressed  in  intimacy  her 
maternal  instinct  had  asserted  itself  more  and  more 
frankly  towards  him.  She  had  treated  him  at  times 
almost  as  if  he  were  a  boy  whose  education  she  was 


494  THE    HEART   LINE 

fondly  directing.  She  had  lost  some  of  that  feeling, 
now,  in  virtue  of  her  mistake;  she  was  curiously 
humble. 

He,  too,  had  somewhat  changed.  Before  Cly- 
tie's  direct  gaze  he  had  lost  something  of  his 
power;  he  had  been  afraid  of  her.  In  this  readjust- 
ment the  normal  phase  of  courtship  was  restored,  and, 
feeling  his  way  with  her,  delicately  perceptive  as  he 
always  was  with  women,  he  began  to  notice  that  she 
would  willingly  resign  the  scepter — she  would  gladly 
be  mastered  if  he  would  but  put  forth  his  power.  She 
was  learning  to  be  a  woman;  she  would  be  con- 
quered anew. 

He  was  to  learn  all  this  slowly,  however;  so  slowly 
that,  at  every  manifestation  of  her  inclination  he  had 
a  moment's  pause  for  the  wonder  of  it,  tasting  the 
flavor  of  her  condescension,  marveling  at  his  own 
conquest.  To  him,  as  to  all  lovers,  his  sweetheart 
had  been  a  woman  different  from  all  her  sex.  He  was 
now  to  find  that  she  was  not  one  woman  but  two — that 
in  her  the  subtly  refined  spirit  of  his  vision  shared  her 
throne  with  that  immemorial  wild  creature  of  primal 
impulse  who  is  the  essence  of  sex  itself;  who,  sub- 
dued or  paramount,  dwells  in  all  women,  saints  and 
sinners  alike.  He  had,  in  virtue  of  his  victory,  merged 
those  two  warring  elements  in  her  soul  into  one. 
She  had  come  into  her  birthright,  not  lost  it.  She 
seemed  a  little  frightened  by  the  metamorphosis,  but 
there  was  a  triumph  of  discovery,  too;  he  reveled  in 
its  manifestation,  but  he  was  still  timorous  before  the 
new,  splendid,  potent  being  he  had  invoked.  There 
was  an  intoxicating  excitement,  now,  as  he  saw  in 
her  traces  of  every  woman  he  had  known.  It  was  as, 


A    RETURN    TO    INSTINCT  495 

if,  after  exploring  a  strange  land  and  meeting  its 
people,  he  had  at  last  come  upon  the  queen  who  com- 
bined all  the  national  characteristics  and  fused  them 
with  the  unique  distinction  of  royalty. 

They  had,  also,  as  yet,  a  whole  lovers'  language 
to  manufacture,  metaphors  to  weave  into  their  talk, 
words  to  suggest  phrases,  phrases  to  stand  for  moods 
and  emotions.  But  such  idioms  are  untranslatable — 
they  will  never  bear  analysis.  For  love  is  a  subjective 
state,  whose  objective  manifestations  are  ridiculous. 
No  one  can  see  a  kiss — it  is  a  state  of  being. 

But  into  this  relation  they  entered,  as  children  go  to 
play,  making  their  own  rules  of  the  game,  establish- 
ing their  own  sentimental  traditions  as  lovers  use. 
With  such  vivid  imagination  as  both  possessed  the 
pastime  became  deliciously  intricate;  it  had  pathos 
and  comedy,  wind  and  dew  and  fire.  They  spoke 
in  enigmas,  one's  quick  intuition  answering  the 
other — there  were  flashes  so  quick  with  humor  that 
a  smile  was  inadequate  in  satisfying  its  esoteric  mes- 
sage. An  observer  would  have  seen  Clytie,  her  eyes 
alight,  her  pose  informed  with  gracile  eagerness,  wak- 
ing from  her  gentle  languor  to  inspired  gesture — 
Granthope  pacing  the  room,  erect,  virile,  dark,  sensi- 
tive in  every  fiber  to  her  presence,  flinging  a  whim- 
sical word  at  her,  or  with  a  burst  of  abandon  pouring 
himself  out  to  her  to  her  delight.  There  was  an  intel- 
lectual stimulation  as  well  as  an  emotional  pressure 
in  their  intercourse  that  forbade  any  monotony  of 
mood.  There  was  a  tensity  of  feeling  that  broke,  at 
times,  into  waves  of  laughter ;  but  there  were  moments, 
too,  when  the  sudden  realization  of  their  relation,  with 
all  its  doubts,  its  unknown  paths,  and  secret,  fatal 


496  THE    HEART   LINE 

web  of  circumstance,  impelled  them  to  make  sure,  at 
least,  of  the  moment,  and  to  defy  the  future  with  an 
expression  of  their  present  happiness.  So  they  came 
down,  and  so  they  went  up.  From  height  to  depth, 
from  shadow  to  light  he  pursued  her.  He  chased,  but 
she  was  ready  enough  to  be  caught !  She  held  a  hand 
to  him  and  helped  him  up ;  they  met  in  delightful  soli- 
tudes of  thought;  they  walked  together  through  the 
obvious.  That  he  should  so  follow  her,  that  she  could 
understand,  there  was  wonder  enough,  even  without 
that  other  diviner  communion.  It  was  a  lovers'  play- 
day,  now;  there  was  time  enough  for  the  lovers'  rit- 
ual and  the  worship  at  the  shrine.  For  this  day  was 
the  untellable,  impossible  delights  of  wonder.  They 
took  repossession  of  their  kingdom,  no  longer  jeop- 
arded by  doubt. 

It  was  Clytie,  who,  at  last,  grew  more  bold,  more 
definite.  She  rose  and  put  her  two  hands  on  Grant- 
hope's  shoulders,  smiling  at  him  with  pride  in  her 
possession. 

"I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  she  exclaimed.  "I've 
suffered  enough.  Before  anything  else  comes  between 
us,  let's  settle  it  so  that  nothing  can  separate  us.  You 
see,  my  instinct  has  triumphed  after  all.  I'm  sure  of 
you — indeed,  I  always  have  been.  I  must  speak  to 
father  to-morrow,  and,  if  you  like — "  She  hesitated, 
in  a  sudden,  maidenly  access  of  timidity. 

"We'll  be  married — instantly?  Dare  you?"  He 
crushed  her  impetuously  in  his  arms,  not  even  this 
time  without  a  wonder  that  she  should  permit  him, 
not  quite  daring  even  yet  to  believe  that  she  was  more 
than  willing. 

She  freed  herself  with  an  expression  that  should 


A   RETURN   TO    INSTINCT  497 

have  reassured  him.  "There's  nothing,  now,  to  be 
gained  by  waiting,  is  there?" 

"Nothing,  if  you  can  live  on  what  I  can  provide." 

She  laughed  at  the  very  absurdity  of  it.  "It  may 
be  hard,  but  I  think  I  can  manage  father,"  she  went 
on.  "He's  too  fond  of  me  really  to  oppose  what  I'm 
set  on." 

"I  only  wish  I  could  do  something  to  assure  him, 
to  propitiate  him,"  said  Granthope.  "My  position 
has  been  so  undignified  that  I've  had  no  chance.  I 
have  been  meeting  you  surreptitiously,  and  I  suppose 
he  suspects  me  of  being  after  your  money." 

"While  the  truth  is,  I'm  after  yours !" 

"I  wonder  if,  after  all,  it  is  mine  ?"  he  said  thought- 
fully. "I  have  never  been  able  to  find  any  heirs  of 
Madam  Grant — and  her  last  message  to  me  seemed 
to  be  that  I  should  have  what  she  left." 

"Oh,  it's  yours,  I'm  sure!"  she  said. 

"I  long  so  to  know  about  her!  If  I  could  once 
convince  your  father  of  my  sincerity  there's  much  I'd 
like  to  ask  him." 

"Father  is  a  strange  man.  He  is  often  unreason- 
able and  prejudiced  in  his  judgment  and  treatment  of 
people,  but  there's  a  warm  vein  of  affection  under- 
neath it  all.  There's  something  hidden,  something 
almost  furtive,  even  in  his  attitude  toward  me,  some- 
times, that  I  can't  understand.  I  happened  on  a  queer 
evidence  of  his  emotional  side  only  a  little  while  ago. 
There  is  a  big  trunk  up-stairs  in  our  garret  where 
my  mother's  things  are  stored.  It's  always  kept 
locked ;  I've  never  seen  the  inside  of  it.  Well,  I  started 
to  go  up  into  the  attic  for  something,  and  as  I  was 
half-way  up  the  steps  where  I  could  just  see  into  the 


498  THE   HEART    LINE 

loft,  I  heard  a  noise  up  there.  Father  was  on  his 
knees,  in  front  of  that  trunk.  He  was  'examining 
something  in  his  hand.  There  was  a  tenderness  and 
a  pathos  in  his  posture — I  got  only  one  glimpse  of  him 
before  I  went  down  again.  You  know  my  mother 
died  when  I  was  about  five  years  old — soon  after  that 
day  at  Madam  Grant's.  He  never  seems  to  want  me 
to  talk  about  my  mother  at  all ;  he  evades  the  subject 
whenever  I  mention  her.  I  think  that  he  must  have 
been  very  fond  of  her,  and  it's  still  painful  to  discuss 
her." 

"Have  you  ever  asked  him  about  that  clipping  about 
Felicia  Gerard?" 

"Why,  he's  as  reserved  about  her,  too.  Isn't  it 
strange?  But  I'm  sure  that  she  was  Madam  Grant — 
there's  a  mystery  about  her  I  can't  fathom.  Do  tell 
me  more  about  her.  You  don't  know  how  queer  it 
seems  that  I  have  actually  seen  her." 

He  gave  her  all  he  knew  of  the  strange,  mad  wom- 
an's life — it  was  not  much,  as  he  had  been  so  young 
then — his  straying  into  her  rooms,  her  adoption  of 
him,  his  education,  his  loneliness,  his  love.  She 
warmed  to  him  anew  as  he  told  the  story. 

"Ah,  that's  the  part  of  you  I  know  and  love  the 
best!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  good  you  were  to  her! 
If  anything  could  make  me  love  you  more,  it  would  be 
your  devotion  to  that  poor,  lonely,  ravaged  soul.  It 
seems  as  if  you  have  served  me  in  serving  her,  and 
I  would  like  to  think  that  I  could  pay  you  back,  by 
my  love,  for  all  you  gave  her.  It  stirs  me  so  to  think 
of  her  pain  and  her  despair!" 

"Let's  make  a  pilgrimage !"  he  said  impulsively.  "I 
haven't  been  inside  the  Siskiyou  Hotel  since  I  was  a 


A  RETURN   TO   INSTINCT  499 

child,  though  I've  passed  there  often  enough.  It's 
a  pretty  disreputable  place  now,  I'm  afraid." 

"Oh,  yes !"  Clytie  caught  up  with  his  eagerness. 
"Think  of  seeing  that  place  again,  where  we  first  met ! 
It  will  be  a  celebration,  won't  it!  How  long  is  it? 
I  don't  quite  dare  think." 

"Twenty-three  years !" 

"And  all  that  time  we've  been  coming  together — " 

"It  was  a  wide  curve  my  orbit  traced,  my  dear!" 

"It's  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life  that  while  we  seem 
to  be  going  away  from  each  other,  we're  as  really 
coming  together.  But  we'll  travel  the  rest  of  the 
course  together,  I'm  sure!" 

They  set  out,  forthwith,  on  their  quest  for  what 
had  been.  It  had  begun  to  rain,  but  their  spirits  were 
unquenchable  by  the  storm.  The  excursion  was, 
indeed,  an  adventure.  Granthope  himself  felt  his 
fancy  aroused  at  the  thought  of  the  revisitation  of  the 
old  home.  It  had  a  double  charm  for  him  now,  as 
the  spot  where  the  two  women  who  had  most  affected 
his  life  had  been. 

He  left  her  under  the  shelter  of  an  awning  while 
he  went  into  the  saloon  to  interview  the  bartender  who 
rented  the  rooms  in  the  building.  The  man  had  heard 
of  Madam  Grant,  though  it  was  so  long  since  she 
had  lived  there.  There  were  still  stories  told  of  her 
wealth  and  her  eccentricities,  as  well  as  of  her  occult 
powers.  The  rooms  had  even,  at  one  time,  been 
reported  to  be  haunted,  but  they  had  always  been  let 
easily  enough.  At  present  they  were  occupied  by  some 
Russians.  Yes,  Granthope  might  go  up;  perhaps  they 
would  let  him  in. 

They  ascended  the  narrow,  dingy  stairs  together. 


5oo  THE    HEART   LINE 

The  wall  was  grimy  where  many  dirty  elbows  had 
rubbed  the  plastering;  the  rail  was  rickety  and  many 
balusters  were  missing.  Granthope  rapped  at  the  door 
in  the  hall  with  a  queer,  sick  feeling  of  familiarity, 
though  it  was  as  if  he  had  read  of  the  place  in  some 
story  rather  than  a  place  he  had  used  to  inhabit. 

A  Jewess  opened  the  door,  her  sleeves  rolled  to  the 
elbows,  her  face  plump  and  good-natured.  She  smiled 
pleasantly. 

"Would  you  mind  our  coming  in  to  look  at  your 
rooms?"  he  asked. 

"What  for?"  she  said. 

"Why,  I  used  to  live  here  when  I  was  a  child,  and 
I'd  like  to  show  this  lady  the  place." 

"If  you  want  to,  you  can,  I  suppose.  It  ain't  much 
to  look  at  now,  though.  We  have  to  take  what  we 
can  get,  down  here." 

Her  curiosity  was  appeased  by  the  coin  which  Grant- 
hope  slipped  into  her  hand,  and  she  sat  down  to  her 
sewing  phlegmatically,  looking  up  occasionally  with 
little  interest. 

The  place  was,  of  course,  much  changed.  The 
windows  were  washed,  the  floor  scrubbed  and 
partly  covered  with  rag  rugs.  It  was  well  fur- 
nished and  well  aired.  Granthope  pointed  out  the 
little  chamber  where  Madam  Grant  had  slept,  where 
his  own  bed  had  been,  and,  finally,  the  closet  from 
which  he  had  first  spied  upon  her.  Clyde  looked 
about  silently,  much  moved,  and  trying  to  bring  back 
her  own  recollections  of  the  place. 

"If  I  close  my  eyes,  I  can  almost  see  it  as  it  was," 
she  said.  "I  can  almost  get  that  strange  feeling  I  had 
when  I  came  here.  If  I  could  be  here  for  a  while  alone 


A   RETURN    TO    INSTINCT  501 

I  think  I  could  see  things.  I'd  like  to  go  into  the 
closet  again.  Let's  see  if  the  crack  is  still  in  the 
door." 

It  was  still  there.  She  asked  permission  to  go 
inside,  and  the  Jewess  rather  uncomfortably  agreed. 
The  place  was  filled  with  clothing;  it  was  close  and 
odorous;  the  shelves  were  filled  with  boxes,  rags 
and  household  belongings.  Clytie  went  in  rather 
timidly. 

"Go  over  where  I  sat  in  the  front  room,  that  day," 
she  said.  "I  want  to  look  through  the  crack,  as  you 
did.  I'd  like  to  be  locked  in,  too,  but  the  key  is  gone." 

She  closed  the  door  on  herself  while  Granthope 
walked  to  the  bay-window  and  looked  idly  out.  It 
was  such  a  strange  sensation,  being  in  the  old  place 
again,  that  for  some  moments  he  lost  himself  in  a 
reverie ;  then,  turning  and  not  seeing  Clytie,  he  walked 
rapidly  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

She  stood  there,  leaning  back  against  the  wall  of 
clothing  with  a  wondering,  far-away  expression,  her 
eyes  staring,  her  face  white,  her  breath  coming  fast 
through  her  parted  lips.  He  took  her  hand,  thinking 
that  she  was  fainting,  and  led  her  out.  She  recovered 
herself  quickly  and  drew  him  into  the  front  room. 

"I  saw  my  father  while  I  was  in  there,"  she  whis- 
pered. "He  was  looking  about  the  room  furtively, 
as  if  searching  for  something.  What  can  it  mean? 
I'm  afraid  something  has  happened  to  him — I'm 
alarmed  about  it.  I  must  go  right  home  and  see  if 
anything's  the  matter.  I  had  a  strange  feeling,  like  a 
pain,  at  first,  in  the  dark,  and  I  was  frightened.  Then 
I  saw  him.  Come,  let's  go  away !" 

She  went  up  to  the  Jewish  woman  and  shook  hands 


502  THE    HEART    LINE 

with  her,  thanking  her  for  the  courtesy.  The  old 
lady  patted  Clytie's  hand  approvingly. 

"That's  funny,  what  everybody  wants  to  see  my 
room  for,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't  care  when  I  get  a 
dollar  every  time,  do  I?  Last  week  they  was  an  old 
gentleman  here,  like  you  was,  to  see  it !" 

"What  was  he  like?"  Granthope  inquired. 

"Oh,  he  was  bald-head,  with  a  spectacles  and  some 
beard." 

Granthope  and  Clytie  exchanged  glances. 

"He  must  have  been  down  here  for  something," 
she  said.  "I  can't  make  it  out.  I'm  afraid  that  there's 
some  trouble.  It  worries  me." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

FANCY  GRAY  ACCEPTS 

The  rain  had  come  in  a  vigorous  downpour,  wash- 
ing away  the  mantle  of  dust  that  had  so  long  lain 
over  the  city.  The  storm  finally  settled  down  to  a 
steady  pelting  of  heavy  drops,  lightened  occasionally 
to  mild,  drizzling  showers,  only  to  be  resumed  with 
greater  violence  toward  night.  Every  one  was  glad  for 
the  flushing  the  town  received.  There  was  a  novelty 
and  excitement  about  the  rain,  a  relief  after  the 
parched,  monotonous  months  of  cloudless  skies.  Men 
and  women  walked  the  streets  smiling,  the  women 
especially;  for  that  free,  fearless  gaiety,  the  almost 
abandoned  good  nature  of  San  Francisco  girls,  was  not 
to  be  quenched. 

On  Thursday  evening,  Fancy  Gray,  to  all  appear- 
ance her  old,  gay  self,  smiling  as  if  she  had  never  a 
care  in  the  world,  went  down  to  Fulda's  to  dine  with 
Blanchard  Cayley. 

In  a  city  of  restaurants,  Fulda's  restaurant  was 
unique.  The  Pintos  had  discovered  the  place,  and  by 
their  own  efforts  had  made  it.  Maxim  and  the  artists 
of  the  quarter  had  gained  Fulda's  consent  to  a  new 
scheme  of  decoration,  a  plan  so  mad  and  impudent 
that  the  room  was  now  a  show-place  for  visitors.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  cartoons  and  sketches  as 
incongruously  placed,  perhaps,  as  the  embossed  pic- 
tures on  a  bean-pot,  but  what  was  lacking  in  art  was 

503 


THE   HEART   LINE 


made  up  for  by  a  bizarre,  esoteric  humor  that  was  the 
perpetual  despair  of  the  uninitiated. 

Maxim's  chief  contribution,  a  huge  cartoon  with 
caricatured  portraits  of  his  friends,  had  the  place 
of  honor;  it  was  a  superb  piece  of  low  comedy  in 
crayons.  Beyond  this  the  sketches  became  more  gro- 
tesque, the  inscriptions  more  cryptic.  Quotations  from 
Rabelais,  from  Brantome,  from  Chesterton,  Whistler 
and  Wilde  were  scattered  here  and  there,  mingling 
with  fiery  burlesques  of  Bohemians,  Philistines,  lobsters 
and  artists.  No  one,  not  even  the  authors,  knew  the 
point  of  most  of  these  jokes  well  enough  to  explain 
them  intelligibly,  and  it  was  this  baffling  suggestive- 
ness  which  drew  patrons  to  the  restaurant  and  kept  its 
charm  piquant.  One  saw  at  each  table  new-comers 
with  questioning  faces  pointing  to  legends  in  Greek 
and  Esperanto  and  Yiddish,  and  wondering  at  the 
inscrutable  accompaniment  of  illustration.  It  was  a 
sort  of  mental  and  artistic  hash  spread  upon  the  walls. 
The  humor  grew  fiercer  as  one's  eyes  rose  to  the  ceil- 
ing. There,  a  trail  of  monstrous  footprints,  prepos- 
terous, impossible,  led,  with  divagations,  to  a  point 
above  the  central  table  which  was  always  reserved  for 
the  Pintos.  To  crown  this  elaborate  nonsense,  they 
had  drawn  a  frieze  below  the  cornice  with  panels 
containing  the  names  of  the  frequenters  of  the 
place,  alternated  with  such  minor  celebrities  as  Plato, 
Browning  and  Nietzsche. 

In  a  larger  city,  such  a  place  would  have  had  a  tem- 
porary vogue,  and  then,  after  having  been  "discov- 
ered" by  reporters  and  artists,  have  sunk  into  the 
desuetude  of  impecunious  rural  diners-out,  one  of  the 
places  of  which  one  says  :  "Oh,  you  should  have  seen 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  505 

it  two  years  ago."  But  San  Francisco  is  of  that  fas- 
cinating size,  half-way  between  town  and  city,  and 
of  that  interesting  age  where  the  old  is  not  quite  for- 
gotten and  the  new  not  quite  permanently  instated, — 
it  is,  above  all,  so  delightfully  isolated  that  it  need 
not  ape  the  East.  Though  it  has  outgrown  some  of  its 
Western  crudities,  it  is  significant  that  such  a  restau- 
rant as  Fulda's  could  become  and  remain  a  resort  for 
the  gathering  of  the  cleverest  spirits  in  town.  It  had 
already  achieved  that  reputation;  it  was  patronized 
by  the  arts.  The  visitors,  for  the  most  part,  either  did 
things  or  wanted  to.  One  was  apt  to  know  almost 
everybody  there.  If  one  didn't  know  Mr.  Smith,  one's 
friend  did ;  or  one  knew  Mr.  Smith's  friend. 

To  this  place  entered  Fancy  Gray,  drifter,  the  day 
after  the  materializing  seance,  in  a  new,  blue  mack- 
intosh and  a  pert  but  appropriate  hat.  She  nodded 
to  Felix,  at  the  counter,  and,  following  underneath  the 
trail  of  footprints  on  the  ceiling,  came,  jovially  as 
ever,  to  the  central  table.  Dougal,  Elsie  and  Benton 
were  sitting  at  the  far  end  of  it.  Dougal  sprang  up 
with  a  grin. 

"Come  and  sit  down  quickly  and  tell  us  all  about 
it!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  happened  after  we  left?" 

She  sat  on  the  side  of  a  chair  without  removing  her 
coat,  and  gave  them  her  ever-ready  smile.  "Say,  you 
didn't  raise  a  rough  house  or  anything,  did  you?  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  case  for  the  coroner  before  you 
got  through.  If  I'd  known  you  were  going  to  be 
there  I  wouldn't  have  been  in  the  cast.  Wasn't  it 
awful?  Madam  Spoil  was  pretty  badly  burned,  I 
hear." 

"I  hope  I'll  never  have  to  see  anything  as  horrible 


506  THE   HEART   LINE 

as  that  again/'  said  Benton.  "But  I  did  what  I 
could.  I  hope  she'll  recover," 

"We  waited  till  the  police  and  the  ambulance  came 
and  then  we  got  out,"  Dougal  added.  "There  was 
nothing  more  to  do  but  testify.  Did  you  see  the 
account  of  it  in  the  paper?  I  believe  they're  going 
to  have  more  about  it,  and  play  it  up  for  all  it's  worth. 
What  became  of  you,  Fancy?  Last  I  saw  of  you  you 
had  skipped  into  that  back  room." 

"Oh,  as  soon  as  I  had  put  on  my  shoes,  I  got  out 
as  quick  as  I  could  by  the  back  way.  I  didn't  know 
whether  the  house  was  going  to  be  pulled  or  not.  I'd 
had  trouble  enough  for  one  evening.  I'm  all  black 
and  blue  now,  from  Dougal's  holding  me." 

"How  did  Vixley  feel,  I  wonder?  He  must  have 
been  pretty  sore." 

"Sore!  I  guess  he  was,  in  more  ways  than  one. 
But  Flora  Flint  was  the  funniest!  They  found  her 
in  the  cabinet,  half  dressed,  after  all  the  crowd  was 
cleared  out — she  had  been  afraid  to  move." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  there,  anyway,  Fancy?" 
Elsie  asked.  "I  thought  you  hadn't  done  anything 
with  that  medium  crowd  for  years." 

It  was  not  often  that  Fancy  was  embarrassed,  but 
she  seemed  so,  now. 

"I  haven't.  I  don't  know  why  I  did — except — they 
asked  me,  and  I  wanted  to  oblige  somebody — and  I 
needed  the  money.  I  had  forgotten  I  had  told  you  to 
go  to  Flora's." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  eat?"  Dougal  asked.  Fancy 
usually  dined  at  the  central  table  several  times  a  week. 
Cayley's  attentions  were  already  on  the  wane. 

"No,  I've  got  free  eggs  to-night,"  was  the  reply. 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  507 

Her  eyes  had  been  on  the  door  of  the  restaurant, 
and,  at  this  moment,  they  were  rewarded  by  the  sight 
of  Blanchard  Cayley,  who  entered  and  looked  about 
the  room  for  her.  "Well,  I'm  going  to  meet  my  royal 
meal-ticket,"  she  said,  rising  and  waving  a  hand  at 
him.  He  nodded,  and  came  down  to  her,  bowing  to 
several  friends  on  the  way,  and  the  two  took  a  table 
beyond  the  Pintos.  She  faced  Dougal  who  made  dis- 
approving faces  at  Cayley's  back. 

The  room  filled  up.  One  long  table  was  decorated 
with  flowers,  and  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
from  up-town  soon  came  in  and  took  seats  there. 
They  began  immediately  to  chatter  and  look  about  the 
walls,  commenting  upon  the  decorations.  At  other 
tables  Fancy  saw  artists,  newspaper  men  and  men 
about  town,  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  before. 
To  some  of  them  she  nodded.  Cayley  knew  many 
more.  It  was  like  a  great  family  dining-room. 

"Well?"  said  Cayley,  in  his  peculiar  tone  that  made 
of  one  word  a  whole  sentence. 

"I  evidently  made  a  hit.  I  hope  you're  satisfied, 
now." 

"You  certainly  brought  down  the  house."  There 
was  a  sarcastic,  almost  a  surly  note  in  his  voice. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  things  went  wrong,  Blan,"  she 
said.  "I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I'd  known  the 
crowd  was  going  to  be  there.  I'm  sorry  now  I  con- 
sented to  take  part.  I  hope  I'll  never  see  Vixley 
again.  He  was  horrid  to  me." 

"I've  seen  Vixley.  He  says  Madam  Spoil  isn't 
expected  to  live." 

"Isn't  it  awful?  I  didn't -want  to  do  it,  Blan,  you 
know  I  didn't;  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  anybody 


508  THE   HEART   LINE 

but  you.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  bear  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  Vixley.  Ugh !  What  did  you  want 
me  to  do  it  for,  anyway?" 

"Oh,  only  to  find  out  some  things,  that's  all.  Of 
course  I  couldn't  do  it  myself,  could  I?" 

It  was  evident,  now,  that  he  had  been  drinking. 
He  had  not  shown  it  in  his  walk  or  in  his  voice,  but 
there  was  a  slight  glaze  to  his  eyes  that  told  the 
story.  He  had  been  abstinent  for  so  long  that  Fancy 
wondered  at  it.  He  ordered  a  flask  of  chianti  and 
poured  two  glasses.' 

"You  oughtn't  to  begin  again,  Blan — don't!"  she 
said  anxiously.  "Water's  good  enough  for  me." 

"Pshaw!  Don't  worry,  I'm  all  right.  You  don't 
think  I'm  drunk,  do  you?"  He  laughed  harshly. 

"N— no,  but  I  don't  like  it." 

"Forget  it,  Fan ;  nobody  ever  saw  me  drunk.  I  only 
get  confidential,  that's  all.  In  vino  veritas.  There's 
a  double  meaning  there.  Exoteric  and  esoteric." 

At  this  moment  the  waiter  appeared  with  a  stone 
bottle  and  two  Chinese  cups.  "Mr.  Dougal  sent  this 
over  with  his  compliments.  It's  sake"  he  explained. 
Fancy  kissed  her  hand  to  Dougal,  and  poured  for  her- 
self and  Cayley. 

"Ugh!    It's  horrible !"  she  said.    "Isn't  it?" 

"No,  it's  the  real  thing;  I  like  it."  Cayley  drank  it 
all  and  helped  himself  to  more. 

"Did  you  find  out  what  you  wanted  to  know  ?"  said 
Fancy,  proceeding  with  her  dinner  daintily. 

"No,  the  row  came  just  in  time  to  queer  the  whole 
thing." 

"Of  course  you  know  that  if  Dougal  had  had  any 
idea  it  was  me — " 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  509 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  Dougal,  it  was  old  man  Payson — 
he  caught  on — " 

Fancy  laid  down  her  fork,  and  narrowed  her  eyes. 
"Payson?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes,  of  course ;  the  old  chap  you  were  talking  to, 
weren't  you?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  expression.  "Pay- 
son?  I  didn't  think — I  was  too  excited  to  realize — 
I  mean— who  is  he,  Blan?"  Her  hands  fell  into  her 
lap  and  clasped  one  another  tightly. 

"Oh,  an  old  boy  I  know,  a  good  sort,  but  a  fool. 
No  fool  like  an  old  fool,  is  there  ?"  He  poured  another 
glass  of  chianti,  without  noticing  how  intense  she  had 
grown.  His  eyes  were  dallying  with  two  good-look- 
ing girls  across  the  room. 

"Is  Miss  Payson — the  one  who  was  with  you  at 
Carminettrs — his  daughter?" 

He  looked  up  at  her  sharply,  now,  but  her  frown 
meant  nothing  to  him.  He  returned  to  his  tagliarini. 
"Yes— why?"  he  said. 

"Tell  me  about  her,  Blan,  please,"  Fancy  begged, 
with  an  unusual  air  of  anxiety. 

"Nothing  to  tell,  except  she's  a  disdainful  beauty, 
and  a  little  too  haughty  for  me.  Fastidious,  pre-Ra- 
phaelite,  and  super-civilized  and  all  that.  You 
wouldn't  care  for  her,  any  more  than  you  would  for 
a  Utamaro."  He  smiled  to  himself  at  what  Fancy 
had  once  said  of  Japanese  prints. 

"H'm !"  Fancy  put  her  chin  in  her  hands,  and  kept 
her  eyes  on  Cayley.  "So  that  old  gentleman  was  her 
father,"  she  said  in  a  low  unimpassioned  voice.  "It 
was  Miss  Payson's  father  I  was  hired  to  fool !"  Sud- 
denly she  spoke  up  more  sharply,  but  with  a  tremor 


510  THE   HEART   LINE 

in  her  voice.  "What  did  you  want  me  to  play  spirit 
for,  Blan?  Out  with  it!" 

He  saw  now  that  something  was  wrong.  It  made 
him  peevish. 

"What  do  you  know  about  Miss  Payson,  anyway?" 
he  demanded. 

"I've — seen  her." 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  her?" 

"I  thought  she  was  a  thoroughbred." 

"Indeed?"  Cayley  thought  it  over,  looking  some- 
what abstractedly  at  a  picture  on  the  wall,  entitled: 
"Je  congnois  la  faulte  des  Boesmes."  Then  he  turned 
with  an  open  countenance  to  her  and  said,  with  an 
air  of  candor: 

"You  see,  Fancy,  I  happened  to  know  Payson  was 
in  the  clutches  of  Vixley  and  this  Spoil  woman — they 
were  sucking  his  blood.  I  thought  I  could  rescue 
him  if  you  would  play  spirit,  and  then  tell  Payson 
afterwards  what  a  fraud  it  all  was.  Understand 
now?"  He  smiled  blandly. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  and  went  on  with  her  dinner. 

"Then  again,"  Cayley  remarked,  "I  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind  getting  even  with  Granthope." 

This  brought  her  up  again  with  an  angry  flush. 
"What  has  he  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Well,  he  played  it  rather  low  down  on  you,  didn't 
he?" 

" What  d'you  mean?" 

"Oh,  he  fired  you." 

"He  didn't!  I  left  of  my  own  accord."  Fancy's 
lie  came  impetuously. 

"Did  you  know  that  he's  after  Miss  Payson,  now?" 

"So  I've  heard." 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  511 

"You're  remarkably  amiable  about  it,  my  dear.  You 
didn't  really  care  for  him,  then?"  His  smile  was 
unendurable. 

"I  never  explain.  If  people  can't  understand  with- 
out explanations,  they  never  can  with  them." 

"Then  you  don't  mind  it  at  all  ?"  he  insisted. 

"No — I  don't  mind  it.  I'm  glad."  The  words  came 
from  her  slowly,  this  time. 

"What  d'you  mean?" 

Fancy  was  silent. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  he  ought  to  be — shown  up 
a  little?"  He  was  on  his  third  cup  of  sake,  but  his 
hand  was  as  steady  as  ever. 

Her  lips  parted,  and  her  breath  came  suddenly  for 
an  exclamation,  but  the  protest  got  no  further  than 
her  eyes.  She  dropped  them  to  the  table-cloth,  where 
she  marked  crosses  with  her  little  finger-nail.  Dou- 
gal  was  making  overt  attempts  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion and  the  diversion  was  maddening. 

"What  d'you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  were  really  a  good  enough  friend  of  mine 
to  help  me  out — " 

"Oh,  I'll  help  you  out,  Blan ;  what  d'you  want  me  to 
do?"  she  said  quite  eagerly,  now.  He  did  not  notice 
her  suppressed  excitement. 

"Well — I  suppose  you  know  a  good  deal  about 
him?" 

She  nodded  wisely. 

"And  some  things,  I  suppose,  might  make  consid- 
erable difference  if  they  came  out?  You  know  what 
I  mean." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  tell  them?"  she  flung  fiercely 
at  him. 


512  THE   HEART   LINE 

He  took  alarm,  and,  reaching  across  the  table, 
attempted  to  touch  her  hand.  She  evaded  him.  "Of 
course  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  dishonorable — 
but — you  said  yourself  she  was  a  thoroughbred — do 
you  think  it's  quite  the  square  thing  to  stand  by  and 
let  a  man  like  him  marry  a  nice  girl  like  Miss  Pay- 
son?" 

"I  thought  you  said  she  was  supercilious!" 

"No,  super-civilized,  that's  all.  Call  it  statuesque. 
But  all  the  same  I  hate  to  see  her  get  stung — don't 
you,  now?  Come!"  He  leaned  back  and  folded  his 
arms. 

"She's  too  haughty  for  you,  I  thought!" 

"Did  I  say  that?  Well,  I'm  a  friend  of  the  family, 
you  know — I  want  to  do  what  I  can  for  them." 

She  reached  nervously  for  her  wine-glass,  and  her 
hand,  trembling,  struck  the  chianti  flask  and  tipped 
it  over.  Before  she  could  set  it  straight  it  had  spilled 
into  a  plate,  drenching  a  napkin  which  lay  partly 
folded  there.  The  linen  was  turned  blood  red.  Cayley 
laughed  at  her  carelessness  loudly.  Dougal  looked 
across  again,  but  Fancy  avoided  his  eye. 

"Blan,"  she  said,  leaning  slightly  towards  him  and 
speaking  low,  "do  you  love  me?  Or  are  you  just 
playing  with  me?" 

He  seemed  to  consider  it.  Then  he  said,  very  earn- 
estly, and  evidently  with  a  subtle  psychological  intent, 
"I'm  only  playing  with  you,  Fancy !"  And  he  smiled. 

Her  fingers  drummed  on  the  table. 

"But  I'll  never  treat  you  the  way  Granthope  did," 
he  added. 

Her  hands  came  together  again  in  her  lap.  "That'll 
be  all  about  Granthope,"  she  said  through  her  teeth. 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  5*3 

"See  here,"  he  insisted,  "you  know  what  a  cad  he's 
been  as  well  as  I  do!  He's  trying  to  marry  Miss 
Payson,  damn  him!  I've  seen  her  with  him  often. 
If  you'll  just  go  up  to  her  and  tell  her  a  few  things 
— you  needn't  violate  any  confidences — just  enough 
to  put  her  on  her  guard — we  can  head  him  off  and 
spoil  that  game !" 

"Oh!"  Fancy's  breast  heaved  violently.  "I  see!" 
she  exclaimed  slowly.  Her  eyes  blazed  at  him.  "So 
that's  what  you've  been  after  all  this  time,  is  it?  I 
think  I  know  you  now,  Blanchard  Cayley !" 

Her  eyes  did  not  leave  him  as  her  right  hand  stole 
over  the  cloth,  reaching  for  the  wine-soaked  napkin, 
and  grasped  its  dry  end.  Slowly  she  rose  from  her 
seat,  stood  up,  and  leaned  far  over  the  table  towards 
him. 

Then,  raising  her  hand  suddenly,  she  struck  him  as 
with  a  flail,  once,  twice  across  the  cheek,  across  the 
eyes,  leaving  a  purple  stain  whose  drops  trickled  down 
into  his  beard.  The  sound  was  heard  all  over  the 
room,  and  drew  all  eyes.  For  a  moment  she  watched 
him  put  up  his  arm  to  ward  off  the  blows ;  then,  with 
a  gasping  sob,  she  turned  and  ran  swiftly  down  to  the 
door  and  out  into  the  street. 

Cayley,  his  face  now  reddened  not  only  by  the  wine, 
but  from  the  furious  flush  which  burned  in  his  cheeks, 
sat  for  a  moment  as  if  paralyzed.  Then  he  wiped 
the  mark  with  his  napkin,  automatically.  His  face 
worked  like  a  maniac's.  He  rose  deliberately,  reached 
for  his  hat  and  strode  down  the  aisle  after  her. 

Dougal  saw  the  pursuit  just  in  time.  Quickly  his 
foot  shot  out  into  the  passage,  and  Cayley,  passing, 
tripped  over  it,  and  fell  headlong  upon  the  floor. 


514  THE    HEART    LINE 

Dougal,  cigarette  in  mouth,  leaped  out  of  his  chair 
and  held  him  lightly.  Benton  jumped  up  and  stood 
by  him,  ready.  Cayley  was  mumbling  curses.  They 
helped  him  up  politely,  and  Dougal  muttered: 

"Go  back  to  your  table,  Mr.  Cayley,  and  sit  down 
there  for  five  minutes.  If  you  don't,  by  God,  I'll  kill 
you!" 

The  room  buzzed  with  exclamations;  every  one 
stared. 

Cayley  stared  sullenly,  his  mouth  open,  then  turned 
back  and  sat  down  and  put  his  hands  to  his  forehead, 
leaning  on  the  table. 

Dougal  conferred  with  Benton.  "You  wait  here, 
Benton,  and  wherever  Cayley  goes,  you  follow  him. 
I'm  going  out  after  Fancy.  There'll  be  the  hell  to  pay 
to-night  if  we  don't  find  her.  I've  never  seen  her  that 
way  before,  and  it  looks  like  trouble  to  me!" 

With  that,  he  hurried  out  of  the  restaurant. 

She  had  run  out  into  the  rain  without  either  coat 
or  umbrella.  Turning  down  Commercial  Street  in 
the  direction  of  the  ferry,  she  walked  hurriedly,  as  if 
bent  on  some  special  errand ;  but,  at  the  foot  of  Mar- 
ket Street,  she  hesitated,  then  crossed,  walked  along 
East  Street  past  the  water-front,  saloons  and  sailors' 
boarding-houses,  stumbling  and  slipping  on  the  un- 
even, reeking,  board  sidewalks.  Then  she  went  up 
Howard  Street,  dark  and  gloomy,  all  the  way  to 
Fourth  Street.  Here  she  made  back  for  the  lights 
of  Market  Street,  crossed,  looked  idly  in  at  a  drug 
store  window  for  fully  five  minutes.  A  man  came  up 
and  accosted  her  jocosely.  She  turned  and  stared  at 
him  without  replying  a  word,  and  he  walked  away. 


FANCY   GRAY  ACCEPTS  515 

Then,  almost  running,  now,  she  flew  straight  for 
Granthope's  office.  Looking  up  from  the  street,  she 
saw  a  light  in  his  window.  She  ran  up  the  stairs  and 
paused  for  a  moment  to  get  her  breath  outside  his 
office  door.  Just  at  that  moment  a  voice  came  to  her 
from  inside,  and  then  a  man's  answered,  followed  by 
a  chorus  of  soft  laughter.  She  stood  transfixed,  biting 
her  lip  nervously,  listening.  The  woman's  voice  went 
on,  evenly. 

Fancy  staggered  slowly  down  the  stairs  and  went 
out  again  into  the  storm.  Down  Geary  to  Market 
Street,  down  Market  Street,  hopelessly,  aimlessly. 
Here  the  rain  beat  upon  her  mercilessly  in  great 
sheets.  Again  she  stopped,  looking  up  and  down 
wildly.  Finally  she  turned  the  corner  and  went  into 
the  ladies'  entrance  of  the  "Hospital."  A  waiter  led 
her  to  a  booth  where  she  could  be  alone. 

The  "Hospital"  was,  perhaps,  the  most  respectable 
saloon  in  the  city  where  women  were  permitted.  The 
whole  rear  of  the  establishment  was  given  over  to  a 
magnificently  fitted-up  department  devoted  to  such 
women  as  were  willing  to  be  seen  there.  One  might 
go  and  still  retain  a  certain  relic  of  good-repute,  if 
one  went  with  a  man — there  were  married  women 
enough  who  did,  and  reckless  girls,  too,  who  took  the 
risk;  but  it  was  on  the  frontier  of  vice,  where  ama- 
teur ancj  professional  met. 

From  a  wide,  carpeted  passage  booths  opened  to 
right  and  left ;  little  square  rooms,  with  partitions  run- 
ning up  part  way,  screened  off  with  heavy  red  plush 
portieres  hanging  from  brass  rods.  Each  of  these 
compartments  was  finished  in  a  different  kind  of  rare 
wood,  handsomely  designed.  Arching  from  a  heavy, 


5i6  THE   HEART   LINE 

molded  cornice,  where  owls  sat  at  stately  intervals,  an 
elaborately  coffered  ceiling  rose,  and  in  the  center  was 
suspended  a  globe  of  cathedral  glass,  electric  lighted, 
glowing  like  a  full  moon. 

Fancy  hung  up  her  jacket  to  dry  and  ordered  a 
hot  lemonade.  Then  she  went  down  to  the  telephone 
and  called  up  Gay  P.  Summer's  house  number.  She 
got  him,  at  last,  and  asked  him,  tremulously,  to  come 
down  to  the  "Hospital"  and  see  her.  She  would 
wait  for  him.  He  seemed  surprised,  but  she  would 
not  explain,  and,  -after  a  short  discussion,  he  con- 
sented. She  went  back  to  the  "Toa"  room  and  waited, 
sipping  her  drink. 

All  about  her  was  a  persistent  babble  of  voices,  the 
women's  raucous,  hard  and  cold,  mingled  occasionally 
with  the  guffaws  of  men.  Across  the  way,  through 
an  opening  of  the  portieres,  she  could  see  an  over- 
dressed girl  tilted  back  in  her  chair  puffing  a  cigarette. 
White-aproned  waiters  passed  and  repassed,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left. 

She  was  staring  fixedly  at  the  wall,  her  elbows  on 
the  table,  her  chin  on  the  backs  of  her  hands,  when 
Gay  entered  a  little  crossly.  She  looked  up  with  a 
smile — almost  her  old  winning  smile — though  it 
drooped  in  a  moment  and  was  set  again  with  an  effort. 

"Hello,  Gay,  here  I  am  again!"  she  said.  She  gave 
him  her  cold  little  hand. 

He  drew  off  his  rain  coat  and  sat  down,  as  fresh 
and  pink  as  ever,  the  drops  still  glistening  on  his 
cheeks.  "What's  up?"  he  said,  touching  the  electric 
button  and  pulling  out  his  cigarette  case. 

"I'm  through  with  Blancharcl  Cayley,"  she  said, 
watching  him. 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  517 

"It's  about  time,"  he  remarked. 

"Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Gay?" 

"Sure!"  he  answered,  without  looking-  at  her.  He 
scratched  a  match,  and,  after  he  had  lighted  his  cigar- 
ette, looked  up  at  the  waiter  who  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  "Two  Picon  punches,"  he  said.  Then  he 
turned  to  her  and  folded  his  arms. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Fancy?" 

He  seemed,  somehow,  to  have  grown  ten  years  older 
since  the  time  they  had  frolicked  together  at  the 
beach.  His  cheek  was  as  blooming,  his  figure  as  boy- 
ish, but  his  eyes  were  a  little  harder.  His  voice 
showed  a  little  more  confidence,  and  his  pose  was  quite 
that  of  the  man  of  the  world.  Much  of  his  charm  had 
gone. 

"Gay,"  she  said,  "we  were  pretty  good  friends, 
once." 

"That's  what  we  were,  Fancy.  How  much  do  you 
need?" 

She  recoiled  as  if  he  had  struck  her  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  arms  on  the  table.  Her  shoulders 
shook  convulsively.  "Oh,  I  didn't  want  to  graft,  Gay, 
don't  think  that !  That's  not  what  I  called  you  up  for, 
really  it  isn't!" 

"What  was  it,  then?"  he  asked,  growing  a  little 
more  genial. 

The  waiter  appeared  with  two  glasses  on  a  tray 
and  set  them  down  on  the  table.  Fancy  looked  up  and 
wiped  her  eyes.  When  they  were  alone  again  he  said, 
"Fire  away,  now.  I've  got  a  date  at  ten.  I'm  sorry 
I  said  that,  but  I  didn't  know  but  you  were  hard  up, 
that's  all." 

"Gay,"  she  said,  "do  you  remember  what  you  said 


5i8  THE   HEART    LINE 

that  day  we  went  down  to  Champoreau's  the  first 
time?" 

"I  believe  I  said  all  that  crowd  had  the  big  head, 
didn't  I?" 

"That  isn't  it,  Gay.  I  wonder  if  you've  forgotten 
already?" 

"I  guess  I  have.  Lots  of  things  have  happened 
since  that."  He  blew  a  lung-full  of  smoke  into  the 
air  over  her  head. 

"You've  said  it  several  times  since  then.  Do  you 
happen  to  remember  asking  me  to  marry  you?" 

"I  believe  I  did  make  a  break  like  that,  now  you 
speak  of  it.  And  you  threw  me  down  good  and  hard, 
too." 

She  got  his  eyes,  and  smiled.  "You  said  that— 
whenever  I  changed  my  mind  and  gave  the  word — 
you'd  marry  me." 

"Did  I?"    Gay  moved  uncomfortably  in  his  chair. 

"You  did,  Gay,  and  when  you  said  it,  I  thought  you 
meant  it.  I  believe  you  did  mean  it  then.  Oh,  Gay, 
dear,  I  want  to  quit  drifting!  I  want  to  settle  down 
and  be  a  good  wife  to  some  man  who'll  take  care  of 
me,  some  one  I  can  love  and  help  and  be  faithful  to! 
Oh,  you  don't  know  how  faithful  I'd  be,  Gay!  I'd 
do  anything.  I'm  so  tired  of  drifting — I'm  so  afraid 
I'll  go  on  like  this!  I'm  not  a  grafter,  Gay,  you 
know  I'm  not!  But  I  want  to  get  married  and  be 
happy !" 

"You  ought  to  have  said  that  two  months  ago,"  he 
said,  knocking  the  ash  from  his  cigarette  with  exquis- 
ite attention. 

"Don't  you  want  me  now?"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  pathetically.  She  reached  for  his  hand.  "I  like 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  519 

you,  Gay,  I've  always  liked  you  and  I  think  I  could 
learn  to  love  you  sometime.  But  I'd  be  true  to  you, 
anyway.  Take  me,  please,  Gay!  I  can't  stand  it  any 
longer." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  so  loud,  Fancy; 
somebody'll  hear  you !  Say,  this  isn't  fair !  I  gave 
you  a  good  chance,  and  you  threw  me  down.  Why 
didn't  you  take  me  then?  I  was  crazy  about  you,  but 
no,  you  wouldn't  have  it !" 

"Then  you've  got  all  over  it?  You  don't  want  me 
now?" 

He  had  a  sudden  access  of  pity,  and  stroked  her 
hand.  "Why,  I  couldn't  make  you  happy,  Fancy! 
You  know  that.  You  wouldn't  have  me  marry  you  if 
I  wasn't  in  love  with  you,  would  you?  I  suppose  I 
have  got  over  it;  I  was  fascinated,  and  I  thought  it 
was  the  real  thing.  We  all  make  mistakes.  I've  been 
about  a  good  bit  since  then,  and  I  know  more  of  the 
world.  I'm  sorry,  but  it's  too  late." 

She  looked  away,  and  for  a  moment  her  eyes  closed. 

"I  guess  nobody  wants  me,  then.  Men  get  tired 
of  me,  don't  they?  I'm  good  enough  to  play  with 
for  a  little  while,  but — I  can't  make  good  as  a  wife. 
Never  mind.  I  thought  perhaps  you  were  in  earnest, 
that's  all.  I'm  sorry  I  bothered  you.  You  can  go, 
now!" 

He  went  up  to  her  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der. She  shook  it  off,  shuddering.  "Go  away!"  she 
cried. 

He  took  his  hat  and  left  her. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  sat  there,  and  then, 
looking  up  haggardly,  stared  about  the  room.  She 
consulted  the  little  chatelaine  watch  that  dangled  on 


520  THE    HEART    LINE 

her  breast.  Going  up  to  a  mirror,  she  attempted  to 
straighten  her  hair,  but  her  hands  shook  so  that  it 
was  of  little  use.  She  was,  even  in  that  warm  room, 
shivering.  Then  she  rose  and  went  down  the  carpeted 
passage,  past  luxurious  paintings,  past  the  compart- 
ments filled  with  giggling  women  and  tipsy  men,  out 
into  the  night  again. 

The  rain  had  stopped  at  last,  but  it  was  cold  and 
gusty.  Great  detached  masses  of  cloud  pied  the  heav- 
ens, and  in  the  clear  spaces  of  sky  the  stars  shone, 
twinkling  brilliantly.  She  turned  down  Market  Street. 

Half-way  to  the  ferry  she  met  Dougal,  almost  fall- 
ing into  his  arms  before  she  recognized  him. 

"Well,  I've  found  you  at  last !"  he  exclaimed.  "Lord, 
how  wet  you  are !  Come  right  along  home  with  me, 
and  Elsie  will  give  you  some  dry  clothes." 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Dougal,  but  I  can't,  really! 
I've  got  to  go  to  Oakland  to-night." 

"Nonsense !     Wait,  I'll  get  a  cab." 

"I  can't  go,  honest  I  can't.    Please  don't  tease  me !" 

"Well,  I  won't  leave  you,  at  any  rate!"  He  put 
his  arm  through  hers. 

"You  can  come  down  to  the  ferry,  if  you  want. 
I'm  going  to  Oakland." 

"All  right,  I'll  go,  too.  But  you're  cold!  You 
oughtn't  cross  the  bay  to-night.  You  ought  to  go  right 
to  bed." 

"Oh,  I'll  be  warm  enough  soon!" 

They  walked  along  for  a  while  in  silence,  till  she 
stopped  him  to  ask,  "Have  you  got  a  pistol  with  you, 
Dougal?" 

"Yes,  why?" 

"Lend  it  to  me,  will  you  ?" 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  521 

"Not  on  your  life!     What  do  you  want  it  for?" 
"Never  mind,  I  want  it.    Please,  Dougal !" 
"Not  after  that  scrap  I  saw  to-night.    I  don't  want 
you  in  the  papers  to-morrow  morning.     YouVe  had 
trouble  enough  without  a  shooting  scrape.     If  any- 
body's going  to  shoot  Cayley,  let  me  do  it!" 
She  sighed,  and  gave  it  up. 

"Do  you  want  to  tell  me  what's  the  matter,  Fancy  ?" 
"No,  Dougal,  Fd  rather  not.     It  doesn't  matter." 
"You'll  get  over  it  all  right,  I  expect." 
"Oh,  yes,  I'll  get  over  it." 

"Anyway,  you  just  want  to  remember  you  can  call 
on  me  any  time  for  anything  you  want,  Fancy,  barring 
guns.  Don't  get  blue  when  you  have  good  friends  to 
fall  back  on.  We're  with  you  to  a  finish,  old  girl !" 
"You're  a  dear !"  She  flashed  a  smile  at  him. 
He  grinned,  and  gripped  her  arm  tighter.  Then  he 
began  to  dance  her  down  the  sidewalk.  Fancy  grew 
hilarious  and  laughed  aloud,  excitedly.  They  began 
to  sing,  as  they  marched,  a  song  they  had  learned  by 
rote  from  Maxim.  Neither  of  them  well  understood 
the  words : 

"Josephine    est    vnor-te, 

Morte  en  faisant  sa 

En  faisant  sa  prie-re 
A  bon  Saint  Nicolas, 
Tu-ra-la! 
Ca  n' va  gu-ere — 

Tu-ra-la! 
Ca  n'va  pas!" 

They  kept  it  up  in  this  vein  till  the  Ferry  Building 
was  reached.  There  he  bought  her  ticket  and  took  her 
to  the  gate.  She  still  smiled,  still  flung  him  her  odd 
jests,  still  clung  affectionately  to  his  arm. 


522  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Well,  good  night,  Fancy  Gray!"  he  said  at  last. 
"Don't  do  anything  foolish  till  I  see  you  again !"  His 
grin  was  like  a  blessing. 

She  seemed  loath  to  leave  him,  and  drew  back  from 
the  gate.  She  unpinned  the  little  silver  watch  from 
her  coat  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"Say,  Dougal,  would  you  mind  taking  this  to  a 
jeweler  and  having  it  adjusted  for  me?"  she  said  sud- 
denly. "It  doesn't  go  very  well,  and  I  won't  have 
time  to  attend  to  it.  Don't  forget  it.  I'll  tell  you — 
perhaps  you'd  better  give  it  to  Elsie — and  let  her  take 
charge  of  it." 

He  took  it  and  put  it  in  his  vest  pocket.  "All  right," 
he  said,  "I'll  give  it  to  her." 

"Tell  her  to  be  careful  of  it,  I'm  awfully  fond  of 
that  watch !"  she  added.  Then  her  fingers  went  to  the 
little  gold  chain  with  the  swastika  at  her  neck  and 
she  started  to  unclasp  that,  too. 

"And,  Dougal—" 

"What?" 

She  left  the  chain  where  it  was. 

"Never  mind,  it's  nothing.  Good-by,  Dougal,  you 
may  kiss  me  if  you  want  to!" 

"Do  I  want  to!"  He  gave  her  a  bear's  hug,  and 
a  brother's  kiss. 

She  was  still  unready  to  go  and  stood  looking  at  him 
whimsically.  Then,  impulsively,  she  seized  his  arm 
and  drew  him  back  under  an  arc  light,  and  held  up  her 
face. 

"Dougal,"  she  said,  "will  you  answer  me  something 
absolutely  honestly?" 

"Sure !" 

"Do  you  think  I'm  pretty?" 


FANCY   GRAY   ACCEPTS  523 

He  studied  her  a  moment,  and  his  lips  worked 
silently.  Then  he  said  deliberately: 

"Well, — I  don't  know  as  I'd  call  you  exactly  a 
pretty  woman,  but  you're  something  more  than  that — " 

"Cut  it  out !"  she  exclaimed  dryly ;  "I  know  all  the 
rest!  I've  heard  it  before.  Stop  before  you  tell  me 
I  have  'fine  eyes'  and  am  good-natured.  I  know! 
'The  bride  was  a  distinguished-looking  brunette  of 
great  grace  and  dignity,  and  wore  her  clothes  well!' 
Never  mind,  Dougal,  you're  honest,  anyway,"  she 
added. 

He  opened  his  mouth  to  protest,  repentance  in  his 
eyes,  but  she  blew  a  kiss  at  him  and  darted  through 
the  gate.  He  watched  her  till  she  passed  through  the 
inner  door,  where  she  waved  a  last  time. 

She  walked  rapidly  on  board,  went  up  the  stairway, 
and  hesitated  by  the  door  of  the  cabin.  A  girl  passed 
her,  looked  back  and  then  returned  timidly. 

"Excuse  me,  but  ain't  you  the  young  lady  that 
works  in  Mr.  Granthope's  office?"  she  said. 

"I  did,  but  I'm  not  there  any  more.  He's  gone  out 
of  business,"  Fancy  managed  to  reply.  Her  quick  eye 
had  recognized  the  girl  as  Fleurette. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that.  He's  nice,  isn't  he?  He  was 
awfully  kind  to  me,  and  he  said  it  was  on  account  of 
you.  Did  you  know  he  wouldn't  even  take  any  money 
from  me?" 

"Wouldn't  he?"  said  Fancy.    "That's  like  him." 

"And  he  gave  me  such  a  lovely  reading,  too.  It 
just  saved  my  life,  I  think,  and  everything  came  out 
just  as  he  said  it  would,  too.  Don't  you  think  he's 
awfully  good-looking  ?" 


524  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Yes,  very."    Fancy  was  breathing  hard. 

"And  he's  so  good.  Why,  I  'most  fell  in  love  with 
him,  that  day.  I  guess  I  would  have,  if  I  hadn't  been 
in  love  already.  I  was  awfully  unhappy  then.  I'm 
the  happiest  girl  in  the  world,  now !  Say,  weren't  you 
awfully  fond  of  him?" 

"Yes." 

"I  guess  he  was  of  you,  too.  He  said  some  awful 
nice  things  about  you !" 

"Did  he?"     Fancy's  eyes  wandered. 

The  girl  saw,  now,  that  something  was  wrong,  and 
evidently  wanted  to  make  up  for  it.  She  spoke  shyly : 
"Say — there's  something  else  I  always  wanted  to  tell 
you.  I  wonder  if  it  would  make  you  mad?" 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Fancy. 

"You  won't  think  I'm  fooling?" 

"No." 

"Well,"  Fleurette  almost  whispered,  "I  think  you're 
awful  pretty!" 

With  that,  she  turned  suddenly  and  went  into  the 
cabin. 

Fancy  went  down-stairs  slowly,  biting  her  hand- 
kerchief. The  lower  deck  was  deserted;  she  looked 
carefully  about,  to  make  sure  of  it.  She  glanced  down 
at  the  water  which  boiled  up  from  the  paddle-wheels 
and  shuddered. 

Overhead  the  stars  now  shone  free  of  cloud,  in  the 
darkness  of  space.  San  Francisco  was  like  a  pin- 
cushion, stuck  with  sparks  of  light.  She  crossed  to 
the  port  side  of  the  boat,  and  saw  Goat  Island,  a 
blotch  of  shadow,  with  its  lighthouse,  off  the  bow. 
It  grew  rapidly  nearer  and  nearer.  It  fascinated  her. 


FANCY    GRAY   ACCEPTS  525 

When  it  was  directly  opposite,  a  few  hundred  yards 
away,  she  clenched  her  teeth  and  muttered  to  herself: 

"Well,  there's  nothing  in  the  race  but  the  finish! 
This  is  where  /  get  off !" 

Clambering  to  the  top  of  the  rail,  she  took  a  long, 
deep  breath,  then  flung  herself  headlong  into  the 
bay,  and  the  waters  closed  over  her. 


CHAPTER   XX 
MASTERSON'S  MANOEUVRES 

Francis  Granthope  ran  up  the  two  flights  of  stairs 
like  a  boy,  and  pounded  at  Masterson's  door.  The 
doctor  appeared,  with  his  celluloid  collar  in  one  hand 
and  a  half-eaten  orange  in  the  other.  He  was  coat- 
less  and  unshorn,  although  his  office  hours,  "from 
nine  till  four"  had  already  begun.  He  looked  at 
Granthope,  took  another  bite  of  his  orange,  and  then, 
his  mouth  being  too  full  for  clear  articulation,  pointed 
inside  to  a  chair  by  the  fireplace  under  the  shelves 
full  of  bottles. 

Granthope  dumped  a  pile  of  newspapers  from  the 
chair  and  sat  down.  The  sun  never  came  into  the 
room,  and  the  place  was,  as  usual,  chill,  dim  and 
dusty.  A  handful  of  fire  fought  for  life  upon  the 
hearth.  Behind  a  fringed  portiere,  which  was 
stretched  across  the  back  of  the  room,  the  doctor's  cot 
was  seen,  dirty  and  unkempt. 

Masterson  finished  the  last  of  his  orange  with  a 
gulp,  went  to  a  bowl  in  the  corner  where  a  skull 
was  perched  on  a  shelf,  and  washed  his  hands.  After 
he  had  wiped  them  and  rubbed  a  blotch  of  juice  from 
the  front  of  his  plaid  flannel  waistcoat,  he  put  on  his 
coat  and  sat  down  by  the  fire. 

"Well,  I  must  say  you're  quite  a  stranger.  How's 
things,  Frank?"  he  said  casually. 

"So-so,"  was  the  reply.  "I've  given  up  my  busi- 
ness." 

526 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         527 

"So  I  hear.  What's  the  matter?  Sold  out?"  asked 
Masterson. 

"Oh,  no,  I  just  threw  it  all  up  and  left" 

"That's  funny.  I  should  have  thought  you  could 
have  got  something  for  the  good-will.  What  you 
going  to  do  now?" 

"Nothing.  I  didn't  come  here  to  talk  about  my- 
self, Masterson,  I  came  to  talk  about  you." 

"Well,  well,  that's  kind  of  you,"  said  the  healer, 
buttoning  on  his  collar.  "That's  what  you  might  call 
friendly.  You  didn't  use  to  be  so  much  interested 
when  you  was  wearing  your  Prince  Albert.  What 
makes  you  so  anxious,  all  of  a  sudden?" 

Granthope  smiled  good-naturedly,  and  poked  at  the 
fire  till  it  blazed  up.  "See  here,"  he  said.  "I  can 
show  you  how  to  make  some  money  easily." 

"That  sounds  interesting.  I  certainly  ain't  in  busi- 
ness for  my  health.  Fire  it  off.  I'm  listening." 

"There's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush  with  you. 
And  I'm  a  man  of  my  word.  Isn't  that  so?" 

"I  never  heard  it  gainsaid,"  said  Masterson.  "I'll 
trust  you,  and  you  can  trust  me  as  equally." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  I'm  fixed.  You  know  that 
Madam  Spoil  and  Vixley  have  got  it  in  for  me — • 
they've  tried  to  run  me  out  of  this  town,  in  fact." 

"Oh,  that's  why  you  quit?  Lord,  I  wouldn't  lay 
down  so  easy  as  that !" 

"Well,  I'm  out  of  it,  at  any  rate.  I  won't  say  why, 
but  they  tried  to  hurt  me,  fast  enough.  Now  I  want 
to  give  them  as  good  as  they  sent." 

Doctor  Masterson  grinned  and  clasped  his  hands 
over  his  knees.  "That  suits  me  all  right.  I  ain't 
any  too  friendly  myself,  just  at  present." 


528  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Then  perhaps  we  can  come  to  terms.  What  I 
propose  to  do,  is  to  checkmate  them  with  Payson." 

Masterson  rubbed  his  red,  scrawny  beard.  "That 
ain't  easy,"  he  said  reflectively. 

"Easy  enough,  if  you'll  help  me." 

"How?" 

"Simply  by  giving  the  whole  business  away  to  Mr. 
Payson.  He'll  believe  you  when  he  won't  me." 

"Well,  what  is  there  in  it?" 

"You  know  what  my  word  is  worth.  If  you  help 
me,  and  we  succeed  in  getting  Mr.  Payson  out  of  the 
net,  I  .promise  you  a  thousand  dollars." 

"H'm!"  Masterson  deliberated. 

"Of  course,  they  know  I'll  spoil  their  game  if  I  can, 
so  I  take  no  chances  in  telling  you.  So  it's  up  to  you 
to  decide  whether  you'll  stand  in  with  them,  or  with 
me.  I  can  do  it  alone,  in  time,  but  if  you  help,  so 
much  the  better.  You  stand  to  win,  anyway.  It 
isn't  worth  that  much  to  work  with  them,  as  things 
are,  and  you  know  it." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Masterson  craftily, 
watching  his  man;  "a  thousand  ain't  much  for  giving 
away  pals." 

"They're  not  your  pals.  They've  tried  to  freeze 
you  out — Fancy  Gray  has  told  me  that  from  the 
inside.  They're  going  to  get  rid  of  you  in  short 
order.  Besides,  you'll  have  the  credit  of  rescuing  a 
credulous  old  man  from  the  clutches  of  swindlers." 

"That's  true,"  said  the  doctor.  "They're  a-bleeding 
him  something  awful.  It  had  ought  to  be  stopped,  as 
you  say.  I  don't  believe  in  grafting.  I'm  a  straight 
practitioner,  and  if  any  of  my  patients  want  fake  work 
they  can  go  somewheres  else." 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         529 

"Well,  what  d'you  say,  then?" 

Masterson  thought  it  over  as  he  warmed  his  hands. 
His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  on  the  door, 
and  he  rose  to  open  it.  An  old,  shabby  woman  stood 
in  the  hall. 

She  was  wrinkled  and  veined,  with  yellowish  white 
hair,  vacuous,  watery  gray  eyes,  a  red,  bulbous  nose, 
and  a  miserable  chin.  She  had  nothing  of  the  dig- 
nity of  age,  and  her  thin,  cruel  lips  were  her  only 
signs  of  character.  All  other  traits  were  submerged 
by  drink  and  poverty.  Her  skirt  was  ridiculously 
short  and  her  black  shawl  ragged  and  full  of  holes. 
She  breathed  of  beer. 

"How  d'you  do,  Mrs.  Riley  ?"  said  Masterson.  "I'm 
sorry  to  say  I'm  engaged  at  present  and  you'll  have 
to  wait.  Can't  you  sit  down  on  the  stairs  for  a  while  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  but  that  fire  looks  good!"  she  whined. 
"Can't  I  just  come  in  and  have  a  seat  to  rest  my 
bones  on?  I'm  feeling  that  miserable  this  day  that  I 
can't  stand." 

"Let  her  come  in,"  said  Granthope,  rising.  "I've 
said  all  that's  necessary  at  present,  and  if  you  decide 
to  do  what  I  want,  we  can  talk  it  over  later." 

The  doctor  grudgingly  admitted  her.  She  tottered 
in  and  took  the  chair  by  the  fire  gratefully.  She  had 
looked  at  Granthope  when  he  first  spoke,  and  now  she 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  as  he  stood  by  the  window. 

Masterson  went  over  to  him  and  spoke  in  a  lower 
tone.  "I  got  to  have  time  to  think  this  thing  over," 
he  said.  "Then,  if  I  accept  your  offer,  we  got  to  dis- 
cuss ways  and  means,  and  so  forth  and  so  on.  I 
won't  say  yes,  and  I  won't  say  no,  just  at  present. 
I'll  think  it  over  and  let  you  know,  Frank/' 


530  THE   HEART   LINE 

The  woman  started  at  the  name.  Her  lower  lip 
fell  pendulous.  Her  eyes  were  still  on  Granthope. 

"When  will  you  let  me  know?"  he  asked. 

"I  tell  you  what  I'll  do;  I'm  busy  to-day,  and  I 
got  an  engagement  to-night.  Suppose  I  come  down 
to  your  office  after  theater  time?  Say  ten-thirty. 
Will  that  do?" 

"I'll  be  there,".  Granthope  replied.  "I'll  wait  till 
you  come.  The  outside  door  is  locked  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Be  there  before  that." 

He  took  his  hat  and  walked  to  the  door,  giving  a 
look  at  Mrs.  Riley  as  he  passed.  Her  face  was  now 
almost  animated,  as  her  lips  mumbled  something  to 
herself.  Granthope  ran  briskly  down-stairs,  and  Mas- 
terson  closed  the  door. 

"Who's  that?"  Mrs.  Riley  piped  querulously. 

"That?  Why,  Granthope,  the  palmist,"  said  the 
doctor,  busying  himself  with  some  bottles  on  his  table. 
He  took  one  up  and  shook  it. 

"Granthope?  No,  sir!  Don't  tell  me!  I  know 
better." 

.  Masterson  was  upon  her  in  a  flash.     "What  d'you 
mean?"  he  demanded,  taking  her  by  the  arm. 

"I  know,  I  know !  You  can't  fool  Margaret  Riley !" 
she  croaked. 

He  shook  her  roughly.  "You're  drunk!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  disgust. 

"No,  I  ain't!"  she  retorted.  "I'm  sober  enough  to 
know  that  fellow;  I've  seen  him  before,  I  tell  you." 

"Who  is  he,  then?" 

"Oh,  d'you  want  to  know?"  she  said  craftily.  "What 
would  you  give  to  know,  Doctor?" 

"I'll  give  you  Hail  Columbia  if  you  don't  tell  me!" 


MASTERSON'S   MANOEUVERS        531 

he  cried.  •  "I'll  give  you  a  bloody  good  reputation, 
that's  what  I'll  give!  I'll  give  you  the  name  of  being 
a  poisoner,  old  woman,  and  I'll  take  care  that  your 
neighbors  know  all  about  your  three  husbands,  if  you 
don't  look  out!" 

"Oh,  my  God !  Don't  speak  so  loud,  Doctor,  please ! 
I'll  tell  you  if  you'll  promise  to  leave  me  alone.  I 
didn't  mean  nothing  by  it." 

"Let's  have  it  then."     The  doctor's  eyes  gleamed. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  Madam  Grant?"  she 
asked.  "I  reckon  it  was  before  your  day." 

"Yes,  I  did.     What  about  her?" 

"Why,  this  young  fellow  you  call  Granthope,  he 
used  to  live  with  her." 

"He  did !"  The  healer  came  up  to  her  and  looked 
her  hard  in  the  eye.  "How  the  devil  do  you  know 
that?" 

"Why,  I've  seen  him  there,  many's  the  time.  I  used 
to  know  the  Madam  well.  Me  and  her  was  great 
friends.  Why,  I  was  there  the  day  she  died!" 

"Were  you?     I  never  knew  that." 

"We  used  to  call  him  Frankie,  then.  He  didn't  call 
himself  Granthope  at  all.  I  expect  he  made  that  up." 

"Is — that — so!"  Masterson  grinned  joyously. 
"Let's  see — there  was  some  money  missing  when  the 
boy  left,  seems  to  me." 

"Lord,  yes,  and  a  sight  of  money,  too.  Madam 
Grant  was  a  grand  miser.  They  say  she  had  a  for- 
tune stowed  away  in  the  dirt  on  the  floor.  She  run 
a  real  estate  business,  you  know,  and  she  done  well 
by  it.  I  expect  that's  where  Frankie  got  his  start. 
Strange  I  never  seen  him  afore." 

"You're  positively  sure  it's  the  same  one?" 


532  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Didn't  I  stare  hard  enough  at  him  ?  Why,  just  as 
soon  as  I  come  in  the  door  I  says  to  myself,  'I've 
seen  you  before,  young  man!'  Then  when  you  called 
him  Frank,  it  all  come  back  to  me.  I'll  take  my  oath 
to  it." 

"Lord,  I  could  kick  myself!"  said  Masterson.  "To 
think  of  all  these  years  I've  known  him  and  ain't 
suspected  who  he  was !" 

"You  won't  give  me  away,  then,  will  you,  Doctor?" 
the  old  lady  added  tearfully. 

"I'll  see,  Til  see."  He  returned  to  his  medicine, 
thinking  hard. 

He  proceeded  with  his  treatment  of  Mrs.  Riley,  ply- 
ing her  all  the  while  with  questions  relative  to  Francis 
Granthope  and  Madam  Grant.  Mrs.  Riley  knew  little, 
but  she  embroidered  upon  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard  till,  at  the  end,  she  had  fabricated  a  considerable 
history.  Her  fancy,  under  fear  of  the  healer's  threats, 
was  given  free  rein;  and  Masterson  listened  so  hun- 
grily, that,  had  there  been  no  other  inducement,  her 
pleasure  in  that  alone  would  have  made  her  garrulous. 
She  went  away  feeling  important. 

That  afternoon,  Doctor  Masterson,  loaded  and 
primed  with  his  secret,  took  his  rusty  silk  hat  and  a 
Chinese  carved  bamboo  cane  and  walked  proudly  up 
Turk  Street  to  hold  Professor  Vixley  up  for  what 
was  possible. 

The  Professor  welcomed  him  with  a  show  of  polite- 
ness. 

"How's  Madam  Spoil?"  was  Masterson's  first  ques- 
tion, after  he  had  spread  his  legs  in  the  front  room. 

"Gertie's  pretty  bad,"  said  Vixley.  "The  doctors 
don't  hold  out  much  hope,  but  you  know  the  way  they 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         533 

linger  with  a  burn.  I  wonder  could  you  do  anything 
for  her?" 

"I  ain't  any  too  willing,  after  the  way  she  treated 
me  last  time  I  was  here,"  said  the  healer  coldly.  "I 
ain't  never  been  talked  to  so  in  my  life!" 

"Oh,  you  don't  want  to  mind  a  little  thing  like  that, 
Doc,  it  was  only  her  way.  Business  is  business,  you 
know.  Besides,  if  Gertie  should  be  took  from  us  it 
may  make  a  good  deal  of  difference,  after  all.  I  don't 
just  know  what  I'll  do." 

"I  tell  you  what  you'll  do,"  said  Masterson,  gazing 
through  his  spectacles  aggressively,  "you'll  take  me 
into  partnership,  that's  what  you'll  do!" 

"Oh,  I  will,  will  I  ?  I  ain't  so  sure  about  that,  Doc. 
Don't  go  too  fast;  Gertie  ain't  dead  yet." 

"I  rather  think  I  can  make  it  an  object  to  you, 
Vixley.  I  may  go  so  far  as  to  say  I  know  I  can." 
Masterson  leaned  back  and  noted  the  effect  of  his 
words. 

Vixley  looked  at  him  curiously  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows. "Is  that  so?  I  didn't  know  as  you  was  in  a 
position  to  dictate  to  me,  Doc,  but  maybe  you  are — 
you  never  can  tell!" 

"I  can  just  everlastingly  saw  you  off  with  Payson  if 
I  want  to;  that's  what  I  can  do!"  Masterson  rubbed 
in. 

"How?" 

"Through  something  I  found  out  to-day,  that's 
how." 

"I  guess  I  could  call  that  bluff  on  you,  Masterson, 
if  I  wanted  to.  We  got  him  sewed  up  in  a  sack.  You 
can't  touch  us  there." 

"Lord,  I  can  blow  you  sky-high!"     He  va/ose  ..and 


534  THE   HEART   LINE 

made  as  if  to  walk  to  the  door.  "And,  by  the  Lord 
Harry,  I'll  do  it,  too!  I've  given  you  a  fair  chance, 
you  remember  that!" 

Vixley  took  water  hastily.  "Oh,  see  here,  Doc,  don't 
go  to  work  and  be  hasty!  You  know  it  was  only 
Gertie  who  wanted  to  freeze  you  out.  I  don't  say  it's 
impossible  to  make  a  deal,  only  I  don't  want  to  buy 
a  pig  in  a  poke,  do  I  ?  I  can't  talk  business  till  I  know 
what  you  have  to  offer." 

"Oh,  you'll  find  I  can  make  good  all  right,"  said 
Masterson,  returning  to  his  seat  with  his  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  "See  here ;  as  I  understand  it,  you're 
working  Payson  on  the  strength  of  something  about 
this  Felicia  Grant,  he  was  supposed  to  be  sweet  on. 
Is  that  right?" 

"Well,  suppose  we  are,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  argu- 
ment. What  then?" 

"Now,  they  was  a  little  boy  living  with  her,  and  he 
disappeared.  Am  I  right?" 

"You  got  it  about  right;  yes."  Vixley's  eyes  spar- 
kled. 

"Well,  then ;  what  if  I  know  who  that  boy  was,  and 
where  he  is  now?  How  would  that  strike  you?" 

"Jimminy!  Do  you?"  Vixley  cried,  now  fairly 
aroused.  "I  don't  deny  that  might  make  considerable 
difference." 

"I  should  say  it  would !  I  should  imagine  yes ! 
Why,  you  simply  can't  do  nothing  at  all  till  you  know 
who  he  is,  and  what  he  knows !  And  I  got  him !  Yes, 
sir,  I  got  him!" 

"Who  is  he?"  Vixley  asked,  with  a  fine  assumption 
of  innocence. 

Masterson  laughed  aloud.     "Don't  you  wish't  you 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         535 

knew  ?"  he  taunted.  "I'll  let  you  know  as  soon  as  we 
come  to  an  agreement.  What  d'you  think  about  that 
partnership  proposition  now?" 

"Good  Lord,  ain't  I  told  you  all  along  I  was  willin'  ? 
It  was  only  Gertie  prevented  me  takin'  you  in  before ! 
Sure !  I'm  for  it.  Gertie's  in  a  bad  way,  and  I  doubt 
if  she'll  be  able  to  do  anything  for  a  long  time,  even 
if  she  should  recover.  Meanwhile,  of  course,  I  got 
to  live.  It  won't  do  to  let  Payson  slip  through  our 
fingers.  Let's  shake  on  it,  Doc;  I'm  with  you.  You 
help  me  out,  and  we'll  share  and  share  alike." 

"Done!"  said  Masterson.  "I  kind  of  thought  I 
could  make  you  listen  to  reason.  Now  you  can  tell 
me  just  how  the  land  lays  with  Payson." 

"Wait  a  minute!  You  ain't  told  me  who  the  kid 
is,  yet." 

Masterson  hesitated  a  moment,  unwilling  to  give  up 
his  secret  till  he  had  bound  the  bargain,  but  it  was, 
of  course,  obviously  necessary.  He  leaned  toward  his 
new  partner  and  touched  Vixley  on  the  knee.  "It's 
Frank  Granthope!" 

Vixley  jumped  to -his  feet  and  raised  his  two  fists 
wildly  above  his  head,  then  dropped  them  limply  to  his 
side.  "Granthope!"  he  cried.  "My  God!  Are  you 


sure : 


"Positive.  Mrs.  Riley  recognized  him  to-day  at  my 
office.  She  used  to  know  Madam  Grant,  and  see  him 
down  there  when  he  was  a  kid.  Why  ?  What's  wrong 
about  that?" 

"Hell!"  Vixley  cried  in  a  fury.  "It's  all  up  with 
us,  then!" 

"Why,  what  can  Granthope  do?" 

"Do?     He  can  cook  our  goose  in  half  a  minute. 


536  THE   HEART   LINE 

And  if  Payson  finds  this  out,  it's  all  up  in  a  hurry/' 

"I  don't  see  it  yet,"  Masterson  complained. 

"Why,  here  it  is  in  a  nutshell.  Payson  has  an  ille- 
gitimate son  by  Madam  Grant — he's  all  but  confessed 
it,  and  we're  sure  of  it.  We  had  it  all  fixed  up  to 
palm  off  Ringa  on  him  for  the  missing  heir — see? 
They  was  big  money  in  it,  if  it  worked.  But  let  Grant- 
hope  get  wind  of  the  game,  and  he'll  walk  in  himself 
as  the  prodigal  son,  and  we're  up  a  tree.  He's  thick 
with  the  Payson  girl  already,  and  unless  we  fix  him, 
he'll  make  trouble.  If  we  could  only  keep  Payson 
from  findin'  out  who  Granthope  is,  and  if  we  could 
keep  Granthope  from  findin'  out  that  Payson  had  a 
son,  we  might  make  it  yet,  but  it's  a  slim  chance  now." 

"It  is  a  mess,  ain't  it?"  said  Masterson,  scratching 
his  head,  and  studying  the  pattern  on  the  carpet.  "Of 
course  this  son  business  puts  a  different  face  on  it 
for  me.  But  perhaps  we  can  pull  it  off  yet.  Have 
you  seen  Payson  to-day?" 

"No — and  there's  another  snag.  Did  you  see  the 
paper  this  mornin'?  The  reporters  have  been  around 
to-day,  and  I'm  afraid  they's  going  to  be  trouble  about 
that  materializin'  seance.  If  they  print  any  more,  I'll 
have  to  pack  up  and  get  out  of  town  till  it  blows 
over.  What  in  the  world  made  Payson  suspect  any- 
thing, I  don't  know!  Fancy  done  her  part  all  right. 
But  I  ain't  afraid  of  that.  We  can  get  him  back  on 
the  hook  again  all  right.  All  we  got  to  do  is  to  lay 
the  fakin'  on  to  Flora,  and  she'll  stand  for  it  What 
I  want  to  do  next  is  to  develop  him." 

"Yes,  I  see  you  got  one  of  them  mirrors  over  there," 
said  Masterson,  going  up  to  it  inquisitively.  "It's  slick, 
ain't  it?  Let's  have  a  look  at  it!" 


MASTERSON'S   MANOEUVERS        537 

.Vixley  sprang  in  front  of  him  and  held  his  arm. 
"For  God's  sake,  don't  touch  it!  Don't  touch  it!"  he 
cried  fearfully.  "Leave  it  alone.  I  don't  want  it 
started.  I  can't  stand  the  damned  thing!  I'm  going 
to  use  crystal  balls  instead.  That  thing  gets  on  my 
nerves  too  bad." 

Masterson,  surprised,  turned  away.  "What  did 
you  get  it  for,  anyway  ?  I  should  think  you'd  got  'em 
again,  by  the  way  you  talk." 

"There's  bad  luck  in  it.  I'm  going  to  send  it  away. 
I'm  afraid  of  it,  somehow." 

Masterson  laughed,  and  resumed  his  s^at,  to  discuss 
with  the  Professor  the  details  of  the  plot.  He 
did  not  seem  much  interested  in  the  plans  for  the 
future,  however,  and  seemed  anxious  to  get  away, 
yawning  occasionally.  He  was  now  smug  and  confi- 
dent, while  Vixley  seemed  to  have  lost  his  nerve. 
The  threatened  newspaper  revelations  had  cowed  him. 
Madam  Spoil  was  left  out  of  the  discussion;  it  was 
evident  that  her  part  of  the  affair  was  finished.  Mas- 
terson left,  promising  his  assistance  if  matters  quieted 
down,  and  Payson  could  be  brought  under  their  influ- 
ence again. 

By  dinner-time  he  had  thought  the  matter  over  to 
his  satisfaction,  and  he  therefore  enjoyed  himself  with 
beer  and  cheap  vaudeville  till  half-past  ten.  Then  he 
strolled  down  Geary  Street  and  marched  up  to  Grant- 
hope's  office. 

It  had  taken  all  Granthope's  resolution  to  treat  with 
Masterson,  but  it  had  seemed  the  only  way,  at  pres- 
ent, to  deal  with  the  situation.  Mr.  Payson's  part  in 
the  materializing  seance  had  not  yet  transpired. 

Masterson  took  a  chair,  crossed  his  legs  and  began : 


538  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Well,  Frank,  I've  been  thinking  over  your  propo- 
sition to-day,  and  I've  decided  that  I've  got  to  raise 
the  ante." 

"I  thought  that  would  be  about  your  style,"  Grant- 
hope  returned,  "but  I  think  I've  offered  you  about  all 
it's  worth." 

"Oh,  it  ain't  only  my  help  that's  worth  it,  it's  you 
that's  worth  it,  so  to  speak.  I'm  getting  on  to  your 
game,  now,  and  I  happen  to  know  that  you  can  afford 
to  pay  well ;  you  see,  I  didn't  happen  to  know  so  much 
about  this  Payson  girl,  as  I  do  now.  If  you're  tapping 
a  millionaire's  family,  why,  I  want  my  share  of  it." 

"I  guess  there's  no  use  discussing  the  matter,  then, 
if  that's  your  theory.  I  can't  possibly  pay  more  than 
what  I've  offered." 

"I'd  advise  you  to  hear  me  out,  Frank,"  Masterson 
went  on.  "I  said  you  could  pay  more,  but  I  didn't 
say  what  I  had  to  offer  wasn't  worth  more,  did  I?" 

"Why  is  it  worth  more  now  than  it  was  this  fore- 
noon?" Granthope  asked  impatiently. 

"It's  worth  more,  because  I've  seen  Vixley,  and  I've 
found  out  things  that  it's  for  your  interest  to  know. 
I'm  on  the  inside,  now,  and  I'm  prepared  to  make  a 
better  bargain." 

"I  see;  you've  sold  me  out,  and  now  you  want  to 
turn  over  and  sell  Vixley  out  for  a  raise?  I  might 
have  guessed  that !"  He  turned  to  his  desk  in  disgust. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  think.  I  ain't  discussing 
high  moral  principles.  I'm  here  to  make  a  living  in 
the  quickest  and  most  practical  way.  If  you  don't  care 
to  hear  what  I've  got  to  say,  I'll  leave." 

"How  do  I  know  you've  got  anything  of  value  to 
me?  Why  should  I  trust  you?" 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         539 

"You  can't  expect  me  to  tell  you,  and  then  leave 
it  to  you  to  make  a  satisfactory  price,  can  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  what  you've  learned.  We'll  call 
it  all  off."  Granthope  rose,  as  if  to  end  the  inter- 
view. 

Masterson  seeing  his  caution  had  gone  too  far 
became  more  eager.  "Let's  talk  this  thing  out,  Frank, 
man  to  man.  Suppose  I  tell  you  half  of  it,  and  let 
you  see  whether  it's  as  important  as  I  say.  Then  we'll 
have  a  basis  to  figure  on." 

"All  right,  but  make  it  brief.  I'm  getting  sick  of  the 
business."  He  sat  down,  tilted  back  in  his  chair  and 
waited,  gazing  at  the  ceiling. 

Masterson  spoke  crisply,  now.  "Suppose  I  tell  you 
that  Payson  has  confessed  that  he  has  a  son?"  He 
shifted  his  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  watched  the  bolt 
fall. 

As  the  words  came  out,  Granthope's  face,  which 
had  shown  only  a  contemptuous,  bored  expression, 
changed  instantaneously.  It  was,  for  a  moment,  as 
if  a  sponge  had  been  passed  over  it,  obliterating  all 
signs  of  intelligence,  leaving  it  to  blank,  hopeless 
bewilderment.  Then  his  mind  leaped  to  its  inevitable 
conclusion,  the  whole  thing  came  to  him  in  a  sudden 
revelation ;  a  dozen  unnoticed  details  jumped  together 
to  form  the  pattern,  and  there  it  was,  a  problem  solved : 
horror  and  despair.  He  was  Clyde's  half-brother! 
He  sat  enthralled  by  it  for  a  moment — he  forgot  the 
leering  scoundrel  in  front  of  him — he  saw  only  Clytie 
— inaccessible  for  ever. 

Then,  still  without  a  word,  he  rose  like  one  in  a 
dream,  sought  for  his  hat,  went  out  the  door,  and 
ran  down-stairs.  As  in  a  dream,  too,  Masterson's 


540  THE    HEART    LINE 

astonished,  entreating,  indignant  exclamations  followed 
him,  echoing  down  the  hall.  Granthope  paid  no  atten- 
tion, he  had  no  thought  but  for  Clytie — to  see  her 
immediately,  at  any  cost. 

He  swung  aboard  an  O'Farrell  Street  car,  found  a 
seat  in  the  corner  of  the  open  "dummy"  portion,  and 
strove  with  the  tumult  in  his  soul.  The  torturing 
thought  of  Clytie  for  ever  lost  to  him  coiled  and 
uncoiled  like  a  serpent.  He  did  not  .doubt  Masterson's 
revelation,  nor  could  he  doubt  its  obvious  inter- 
pretation in  the  light  of  the  many  revelations  that 
had  been  cast  upon  Mr.  Payson's  past  Yet  it  must 
be  corroborated  before  he  could  wholly  abandon  him- 
self to  renunciation.  He  tried  to  keep  from  hoping. 

He  was  Clytie's  half-brother!  His  mind  wrestled 
with  it. 

The  car  filled  at  the  Orpheum  Theater,  taking  on  a 
load  of  merry  passengers,  who  crowded  the  seats  inside 
and  out  till  the  aisles  and  footboards  were  packed. 
The  bell  clanged  as  they  drove  through  the  Tender- 
loin, rolled  round  the  curve  into  Jones  Street  and  took 
the  steep  hill,  climbing  without  slackening  speed.  It 
rounded  two  more  corners,  wheels  creaking ;  and  as  it 
passed,  the  broad  area  of  the  Mission  and  South  San 
Francisco  was  for  a  moment  revealed  in  the  gap  of 
Hyde  Street,  a  valley  of  darkness,  far  below,  gor- 
geously set  out  with  lights,  like  strings  and  patterns 
of  jewels.  At  California  Street  a  crowd  of  passen- 
gers, mostly  Jews,  overdressed,  prosperous,  exuber- 
ant, transferred  for  the  Western  Addition.  The  car 
went  up  and  up,  reached  the  summit  and  coasted  down 
the  dip  to  Pacific  Street.  Another  rise  to  Union  Street, 


MASTERSON'S   MANOEUVERS         541 

where  another  line  transferred  more  passengers 
towards  the  Presidio.  Then,  with  only  one  or  two 
inside,  and  the  conductor  lazily  picking  his  teeth  on 
the  back  platform,  they  climbed  again  up  to  the  reser- 
voir. Here  a  long  incline  fell  giddily  to  the  water  and 
the  North  Beach.  The  car  rolled  to  the  crest,  ducked 
fearfully,  and  boldly  descended  the  slope. 

He  was  Clyde's  half-brother!  The  thought  of  it 
was  darker  than  the  night  about  him. 

Ahead,  the  black  stretch  of  water,  the  flash  of  the 
light  on  Alcatraz,  and  a  misty  constellation  in  the 
direction  of  Sausalito.  To  the  left,  a  huge  shoulder 
of  Russian  Hill  swept  back  from  the  northern  harbor 
in  a  wave  toward  the  south.  It  was  sprinkled  with 
artificial  stars — the  gas-lamps,  electric  lights,  and  illu- 
minated windows  of  the  town.  One  street,  directly 
opposite,  was  a  line  of  topaz  brilliants,  loosely  strung, 
scattering  over  the  hill.  Fort  Point  light,  two  miles 
away,  flared  alternately  a  dash  of  pale  yellow — and 
short  pin-pricks  of  red.  Farther  away,  Point  Bonita 
was  flaming,  regular  as  a  clock,  a  periodic  spasm  of 
diamond  radiance.  Electric  cars,  like  lighted  lanterns, 
were  painfully  climbing  the  Fillmore  Street  hill.  All 
about  was  a  sparse  settlement  of  wooden  houses,  thick- 
ening as  it  rose  to  the  palaces  of  Pacific  Avenue 
crowning  the  summit.  A  dark  space  of  grass  and 
trees  lay  ahead — the  Black  Point  Military  Reserva- 
tion— the  bugles  were  calling  through  the  night. 

It  was  past  eleven  o'clock  when  Granthope  ran  up 
the  steps  into  the  Paysons'  front  garden,  walked  rap- 
idly up  the  path  and  stood  for  a  moment  outside  the 
door.  There  was  a  light  in  Clyde's  workroom;  he 
threw  a  handful  of  gravel  against  the  pane,  and  waited. 


542  THE   HEART   LINE 

The  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  the  window  raised, 
and  Clytie  looked  out  boldly.  She  saw  him,  waved 
her 'hand,  and  disappeared.  A  few  moments  later  she 
opened  the  front  door  quietly.  She  wore  a  soft,  cling- 
ing, blue  silk  peignoir;  her  arms  were  half  bare,  and 
her  tawny  hair  was  braided  for  the  night.  She  came 
out  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"Oh,  Francis,  what  is  it?" 

"Did  I  frighten  you,  dear?" 

"Oh,  I  knew  it  was  you,  immediately.  But  what 
has  happened  to  bring  you  here?" 

"Is  your  father  at  home?" 

"No — he  may  be  back  at  any  moment,  though.  But 
come  in!" 

He  removed  his  hand  from  hers  resolutely,  though 
her  touch  thrilled  him  with  delight.  "Wait !"  he  com- 
manded. "First,  can  you  get  the  keys  to  that  trunk?" 

"Trunk?"  she  questioned,  puzzled. 

"Yes,  the  trunk  you  told  me  about — with  the  wed- 
ding-clothes in  it — I  must  see  it !" 

"Now?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"Yes,  immediately.  Please  do  as  I  say,  and  don't 
ask  why,  yet.  Everything  depends  upon  it.  Hurry, 
before  your  father  comes !" 

The  unusual  air  of  command  brought  her  to  her 
senses.  She  went  into  the  house.  "Wait  here  in  the 
hall ;  I'll  get  a  light." 

She  was  gone  but  a  moment,  and  returned  with  a 
candle  in  a  brass  candlestick.  .  Then,  without  a  word, 
she  led  the  way  up  the  stairs.  They  passed  silently 
through  an  upper  hall  where  an  open  door  revealed 
a  glimpse  of  her  bed-chamber,  all  in  white,  as  exquis- 
itely kept  as  a  hospital  ward.  Here  she  left  him  to 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         543 

get  her  father's  keys.  They  came  to  a  flight  of  steps, 
leading  upward.  She  waited  for  him  to  go  first  and 
lift  the  trap-door  at  the  top.  When  he  had  disap- 
peared into  the  gloom  above,  she  followed  him,  handed 
up  the  candlestick  and  took  his  hand  to  a  place  beside 
him. 

The  garret  stretched  the  full  length  of  this  wing  of 
the  house.  At  the  far  end  a  dim  light  came  through 
a  gable  window,  in  front  of  which  the  bough  of  a  tree 
waved.  The  candle  cast  wavering,  widening  shadows 
of  the  rafters  against  the  sloping  roof,  and  picked 
out  with  its  light  the  rows  of  trunks,  boxes  and  pieces 
of  furniture  on  either  side  of  the  floor.  It  was  damp 
and  cold ;  there  was  a  musty  odor  of  old  books. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  end,  where,  under  the 
window  a  large,  black  trunk  stood  upon  the  floor. 
Granthope's  heart  leaped  with  hope.  But,  in  another 
moment  it  stood  still  as  death.  She  had  handed  him 
the  key,  and  he  had  thrown  open  the  lid.  There, 
inside,  was  a  smaller  trunk,  covered  with  cow-hide, 
with  a  rounded  top  and  a  lip  of  pinked  leather,  studded 
with  brass  nails.  There  were  the  letters,  "F.  G." 

He  needed  but  one  look  to  recognize  it  as  Madam 
Grant's.  But  still,  it  was  a  common  pattern  of  the 
old-fashioned  "hair  trunk"  and  he  must  be  sure.  The 
lock  had  been  broken,  and  no  key  was  needed  to  open 
it.  He  threw  open  this  lid.  also.  Clytie  bent  over 
him  holding  the  candle,  so  near  that  she  touched  his 
shoulder.  Neither  had  spoken. 

There  was  the  same  collection  of  papers,  letters 
and  account-books,  the  same  little  mahogany  box. 
How  well  he  recalled  his  first  sight  of  it  all!  How 
heavy  that  tray  had  seemed  to  him,  as  a  child !  Now 


544  THE    HEART    LINE 

he  raised  it  with  ease.  Below,  the  same  revelation  of 
yellowing  satin  and  old  lace — even  the  same  tissue 
paper,  shredded  to  tatters,  wrapped  about  the  packages. 
The  boxes  of  silk  stockings  and  handkerchiefs  were 
there  as  well.  He  thought  of  the  package  of  bills  that 
had  lain  in  one  corner — he  knew  the  place  as  well  as  if 
he  still  saw  the  money.  Lastly,  he  groped  for  the 
white  vellum  prayer-book.  He  found  it,  and  drew  it 
out.  Opening  the  cover,  he  looked  once  at  the  fly-leaf, 
then  handed  it  silently  to  Clytie.  Written  there  was 
the  name  "Felicia  Gerard."  He  turned  his  face 
away  from  her. 

She  looked  at  the  book  and  then  at  him,  still  bewil- 
dered. 

"What  does  it  mean,  Francis?  Tell  me;  I  can't 
stand  it  a  moment  longer !  This  is  Madam  Grant's 
trunk,  of  course — I  see  that.  But  how  came  it  here? 
Why  should  my  father — " 

She  set  the  candle  upon  a  box  and  put  her  arms 
tenderly  about  his  neck,  her  face  close  to  his,  to  soothe 
his  agitation.  Her  smooth  cheek  against  his  was 
rapture.  He  could  feel  her  body,  warm  and  soft, 
through  her  thin  peignoir,  and  the  contact  inflamed 
him.  He  unclasped  her  arms  with  a  sudden  violent 
gesture  and  sprang  up  in  an  agony  of  despair. 

"Don't  touch  me !"  he  cried.    "Never  again !" 

She  looked  at  him,  terrified  at  his  tone.  His  panic 
passed  in  a  wave  from  him  to  her,  and  was  the  more 
unbearable  because  she  did  not  yet  understand  the 
cause  of  it. 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me!"  She  faced  him,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand. 

He  retreated  from  her, 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         545 

"It's  Mamsy's  trunk,"  he  said,  trying  to  control  his 
voice.  "Oh,  don't  you  see?" 

"I'm  too  frightened  to  think!"  she  cried,  clasping 
her  hands.  "I  can't  think.  Tell  me  quickly,  or  I  shall 
faint!" 

"Doesn't  your  intuition  tell  you  ?"  he  asked  bitterly. 
"Why  should  it  fail  you  now,  when  it  should  be 
stronger  than  ever  before?" 

"It  tells  me  nothing,  except  that  you  are  killing 
me  with  suspense.  Oh,  but  I  know  you  are  suffering, 
too!  Let  me  share  it.  Francis,  you  don't  doubt  my 
love  for  you,  whatever  happens,  do  you  ?" 

He  caught  her  hand  again  and  dashed  it  away. 

"Oh,  you  should  see!"  he  cried.  "It's  so  plain, 
now!  I  am  Madam  Grant's  son — and  my  father — is 
your  father!  I  am  your  half-brother!  It's  all  ended 
between  us,  now !" 

"How  do  you  know?"  She  was  trembling.  "How 
does  this  prove  it?  It  is  Felicia  Grant's  trunk,  of 
course — but  we  knew  already  that  my  father  had  an 
interest  in  her — he  must' have  bought  this  trunk  at  the 
auction  when  she  died — but  why  does  it  prove  you  are 
his  son?  Why  should  you  think  that  there  was  ever 
such  a  relation  between  them?  It's  horrible!" 

"I  found  out  to-night,  an  hour  ago,  that  your  father 
had  a  child  by  her — he  has  confessed  it  to  Vixley  and 
Madam  Spoil.  They  got  it  out  of  him,  somehow. 
That's  how  they  have  got  a  hold  on  him — and  who 
else  should  this  child  be  but  I,  who  lived  with  her?  It 
accounts  for  his  tenderness  for  these  things,  for  his 
scrap-book,  his  going  down  to  the  Siskiyou  Hotel — 
everything!  Oh,  it's  certain!  It  is  hopeless!" 
She  stood  gazing  at  him,  bewildered. 


546  THE   HEART   LINE 

"If  he  had  an  illegitimate  child  it  must  be  you,  of 
course.  But  it  is  strange  I  never  heard  of  that!" 

"It  was  all  so  long  ago — before  you  were  born — that 
it  happened.     Madam  Grant  had  no  friends — excepf 
perhaps,  your  mother — and  it  could  have  been  kept 
a  secret  easily  enough." 

She  gave  a  low  moan  and  sank  down  upon  a  box 
limply.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  candle  flame ;  she 
seemed  to  be  studying  some  possible  way  of  escape. 
She  looked  up  at  him  once,  and  then  down  again, 
for  his  eyes  were  desperate.  He  stood  watching  .her, 
and  for  some  time  neither  spoke.  He  put  his  hand 
to  his  head,  stroking  his  hair  over  his  ear  mechanically, 
while  his  mind  whirled.  Below  a  door  slammed. 
She  rose,  shaking  back  her  hair,  her  eyes  half-closed, 
her  hands  on  her  breast. 

"I  understand,  now,"  she  said  slowly.  "It  must 
have  been  that  which  drew  me  to  you  at  first.  But  if 
you  are  my  brother,  surely  I  have  the  more  right  to 
love  you !  Oh,  Francis,  I  do  love  you !  What  does 
it  matter  how,  so  long  as  you  are  dear  to  me?"  She 
rose,  and  put  out  her  hand  again,  but,  at  the  touch 
he  shrank  away  from  her. 

"Oh,  no,  I  can't  stand  that!  It's  all  over,  that 
tenderness.  I  can't  trust  myself  with  you.  It's  not  a 
brother's  love  I  feel  for  you.  It's  so  much  more  that 
you  will  always  be  a  fearful  temptation  to  me." 

"Can't  you  overcome  that?"  As  she  held  the  candle 
before  her,  her  face  had  never  appeared  more  noble ; 
for  a  moment  she  seemed  as  far  away  from  him  as 
she  had  been  at  first,  alone  on  spiritual  heights  to 
him  inaccessible. 

"Can  you?"  he  asked. 


Her  head  drooped  like  a  heavy  flower 


54', 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVERS         547 

She  dropped  her  eyes.  "If  we  had  found  this  out 
before,  it  would  have  been  easier." 

"Ah,  if  we  only  had!  Then  you  would  have  come 
into  my  life  as  a  sister.  How  proud  I  would  have 
been  of  you !  How  grateful  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me!  But  it  is  too  late,  now,  to  accept  you  on  such 
terms.  I  have  kissed  you — not  as  a  brother  kisses 
his  sister.  I  can  never  get  that  desire  out  of  my 
blood !" 

She  shuddered  and  turned  away  from  him.  "Yes, 
you  are  right,  I  know.  I  am  a  woman,  now ;  you 
have  awakened  me.  There  is  nothing  for  us  to  do 
but  part.  It  is  hideous  to  be  the  playthings  of  fate." 

"Well,"  he  said  grimly,  "if  I  have  made  you  a 
woman,  you  have  made  me  a  man !  I  can  at  least  live 
cleanly  and  self-respectingly.  Of  course  I  can't  see 
you  again — not,  at  least,  for  a  long  time — not  till  we 
get  over  this  — " 

She  looked  up  with  the  veriest  shadow  of  a  smile. 
"Oh,  I  shall  not  get  over  it !  There  is  no  chance  of 
that!  Right  or  wrong,  I  shall  always  feel  the  same 
toward  you,  always  long  for  you.  Isn't  that  a  fearful 
confession?  Yet,  how  can  I  help  it?" 

"Then  it  is  for  me  to  protect  you  all  the  more.  I 
can  live  so  that  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  me.  But 
not  near  you." 

She  sat  down  again.  Her  head  drooped  like  a  heavy 
flower,  her  hands  fell  listlessly  into  her  lap.  A  sud- 
den draft  distracted  the  candle  and  sent  her  shadow, 
distorted,  to  and  fro  upon  the  roof.  Then  footsteps 
were  heard  on  the  floor  below,  and  a  door  slammed 
again.  She  looked  up  to  say : 

"Father  has  come  home,    Shall  we  tell  him,  now?" 


548  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Must  we?" 

"I  would  rather  wait.  I  can't  stand  anything  more, 
yet.  I  want  to  think  it  out.  I  am  too  puzzled  and  I 
am  fighting  against  this  too  hard,  now.  Let  me  get 
hold  of  myself  first.  Perhaps  we  can  get  down  with- 
out his  hearing  us,  if  we  wait  a  little  while.  He  has 
gone  to  his  room." 

"That's  the  best  way,  if  we  can.  There'll  be  a 
scene — and  I  am  not  ready  for  that,  either.  I  will 
tell  him  later — or  you  may." 

"No,  it  should  be  you.    How  can  I  talk  to  him  ?" 

"I  can't  tell  how  he'll  take  it.  I'm  sure,  now, 
that  he  has  been  looking  for  me — for  Madam  Grant's 
child — for  some  time,  and  Vixley  was  undoubtedly 
leading  him  on,  promising  to  find  his  son.  But  now, 
when  he  knows  it  is  I,  after  the  way  he  has  treated 
me,  how  will  he  feel?" 

"Oh,  be  sure  he  will  be  kind!" 

"It  doesn't  matter  much.  I  shall  not  trouble  him. 
I  shall  go  away,  of  course." 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  it !  I  can't  give  you  up !  Oh,  I'm 
sure  it  isn't  right.  I  can't  believe  it,  even  yet !" 

"Let's  go  down !"  he  said  sharply.  "I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer.  My  blood  cries  out  for  you !  When  I 
think  that  I  have  held  you  in  my  arms — " 

"Yes,  come!  Don't  speak  like  that  or  I  shall 
forget  everything  else." 

He  took  the  candle  and  lighted  her  down  the  steps, 
then  followed  her  quietly.  Together  they  crept  along 
the  hall  and  down  the  stairway  to  the  lower  hall.  As 
they  got  there,  the  cuckoo-clock  hiccoughed,  five  min- 
utes before  the  hour. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  him,  her  eyes 


MASTERSON'S    MANOEUVRES         549 

burning.  Her  peignoir  fell  in  long,  graceful  lines, 
suggesting  her  gracile  figure.  One  braid  had  fallen 
over  her  shoulder  across  her  breast  to  below  her 
waist.  Her  beauty  smote  his  senses. 

"To-morrow  is  Saturday,"  he  said.  "I  shall  come 
up  to  see  your  father  in  the  afternoon.  You  had 
better  be  away,  if  you  can." 

"I  shall  be  away,"  she  said  dully. 

"I'll  have  it  out  with  him — settle  it  beyond  all 
doubt,  and  then — " 

"And  then?" 

"I  shall  try  to  show  you  what  you  have  made  of  me. 
I  shall  not  see  you  till  we  have  conquered  this  thing!" 

"Oh,  Francis,  if  I  could  only  feel  that  it  is  wrong — 
but  I  can't.  It  seems  so  right,  so  natural.  I  shall 
not  change.  I  have  given  myself  to  you,  and  I  can 
not  take  myself  back.  If  there  is  fighting  against 
it  to  be  done,  you  must  do  it  for  both  of  us.  You 
must  decide." 

"I  shall  take  care  of  you,  Clytie.  That  will  be  my 
brother's  duty." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  drooping,  "you  must  help  me. 
I  can't  help  you  any  more.  I  have  done  what  I  can, 
but  you  have  passed  me  now,  and  you  are  the  master." 

"I  must  begin  now,  then,  and  go.     Good-by!" 

She  gave  him  her  hands,  and  he  took  them  for  a 
moment,  then  flung  himself  away  before  their  deli- 
cacy could  work  on  him.  With  a  sudden  smile,  he 
turned  to  the  door  and  was  gone. 

She  stood,  limp  and  weak,  watching  him  till  the 
door  closed.  Then  the  cuckoo-clock  broke  the  silence 
with  its  interminable  midnight  clatter,  persistent,  mad- 
dening. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  SUNRISE 

Clytie  met  her  father,  next  morning,  showing  no 
trace  of  what  she  had  suffered  during  the  night.  He 
himself  had  enough  to  think  about  without  noticing 
her  demeanor. 

On  Saturday  the  papers  had,  after  considerable  in- 
vestigation of  the  matter,  called  public  attention  to 
the  doings  of  spiritualistic  mediums  in  San  Francisco, 
and  were  full  of  exposures.  Vixley's  record  was 
given,  and  it  was  sensational  enough  to  make  it  ad- 
visable for  the  Professor  to  leave  town  till  the  scandal 
blew  over.  Flora  Flint  was  reported  to  have  fled  at 
the  same  time,  and,  it  was  presumed,  in  the  same 
direction.  Other  mediums  not  concerned  in  this  affair 
were  interviewed,  and  pseudo-confessions  extorted 
from  their  dupes.  The  Spiritualistic  Society  protested 
in  vain  that  none  of  the  mediums  exposed  had  ever 
been  in  good  standing  with  that  body  of  true  be- 
lievers— the  wave  of  gossip  drowned  its  voice.  San 
Francisco  was  the  largest  spiritualistic  community  in 
the  United  States,  probably  in  the  world,  but,  for  a 
while  at  least,  it  would  be  less  easy  for  clairvoyants 
and  psychometrists  to  earn  a  living.  This  outburst 
was  one  of  the  periodic  upheavals  of  reform,  but  the 
talk  would  soon  die  down  and  business  would  be  re- 
sumed in  perfect  safety  by  the  charlatans.  There 
would  be  a  new  crop  of  dupes  to  cajole. 

Clytie  and  her  father  both  avoided  the  subject. 
550 


THE    SUNRISE  551 

Breakfast  passed  silently,  and  at  nine  o'clock  Mr. 
Payson  left  the  house.  Clytie  went  about  her  work 
automatically;  answered  a  few  letters,  listlessly  re- 
arranged her  jewelry  in  its  casket,  sorted  the  leaves 
of  a  book  she  had  taken  apart  to  rebind,  cut  the  pages 
of  a  magazine,  set  her  tools  in  order  on  the  bench. 
From  time  to  time  she  went  to  the  front  window  to 
look  out,  returning  to  stand  for  minutes  at  a  time  in 
the  center  of  the  room,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  what 
she  had  intended  to  do.  At  ten  o'clock  she  lay  down 
upon  the  couch  in  the  library  and  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep  of  exhaustion,  the  first  rest  she  had  obtained 
since  midnight. 

She  was  awakened  by  the  door-bell,  and  had  barely 
time  to  hurry  into  her  chamber  before  the  door  was 
answered.  There,  word  was  brought  to  her  that  Mr. 
Cayley  wished  to  see  her.  She  bathed  her  eyes, 
smoothed  her  hair,  put  on  her  Chinese  sa'am,  and  a 
jade  necklace  over  her  house-frock  and  went  down  to 
him.  Her  face  was  resolutely  set,  her  eyes  had  a 
cold  luster. 

"How  d'you  do,  Blan?"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  him.  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!" 

It  was  a  warmer  greeting  than  he  had  received  for 
some  time,  but  he  did  not  appear  surprised.  He 
drew  off  his  gloves,  looking  admiringly  at  her. 

"I  didn't  feel  like  work,  to-day,  so  I  thought  I 
would  run  out  and  see  you." 

"You  certainly  are  devoted !  I  shall  have  to  reward 
you  by  being  very  nice." 

He  smiled.  "I'm  glad  you're  beginning  to  appre- 
ciate me." 

"Meaning  that  in  the  dictionary  sense  of  the  word, 


552  THE    HEART    LINE 

or  the  common  interpretation?"  she  said,  seating  her- 
self. 

"Both.  They're  the  same,  in  my  case.  If  I  had 
suspected  that  you  were  going  to  be  so  amiable — " 

"I'm  always  ready  to  be  that — if  you'll  let  me." 

This  was  enough  unlike  her  ordinary  manner  to- 
ward him  to  make  him  give  her  a  look-over  for  an 
explanation.  "All  right,  I'll  take  you  up,"  he  said. 
"Just  how  amiable  are  you  prepared  to  be?"  He  sat 
down  opposite  her. 

"That's  for  you  to  find  out!" 

"Well.  I'll  try  to  discover  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  so  elaborate,  Blanchard.  You 
never  really  need  more  than  half  the  subtlety  you 
waste  on  me.  I'm  quite  a  simple  person!" 

"Still  waters—"  he  began. 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  and  her  brows. 

"Run  cold !"  he  finished,  and  caught  a  smile. 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  cold !"  she  said. 

"Granthope  didn't  succeed  in  firing  you?" 

She  showed  no  evidence  of  pain  except  that  the 
two  lines  appeared  in  her  forehead  suddenly.  Then 
she  shook  her  head  as  if  to  cast  off  some  annoyance. 

"Oh,  you're  quite  off  the  track,  there.  Don't  make 
it  harder  for  yourself  than  necessary.  What  did  you 
come  to-day  for?  Tell  me!" 

He  laughed  comfortably  and  said,  "Reconnaissance." 

"I  thought  there  was  a  reason.  Well,  reconnoiter 
away!  Your  precautions  are  infinite!"  Her  chin 
went  up. 

"That's  one  of  the  qualities  of  genius,  I  believe. 
I  think  in  the  end  I  shall  justify  my  system." 


THE    SUNRISE  553 

"You  haven't  produced  any  psychological  condition 
yet,  then?"  She  looked  at  him  with  her  eyebrows 
raised.  No  smile. 

"Not  quite." 

"Hasn't  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that" — her  eyes 
sought  his  with  a  quick  glance,  and  drifted  away— 
"that  such  a  condition — might  come  without  your 
having  produced  it  yourself?  Accidentally,  so  to 
speak?" 

"I  confess  I  haven't  been  modest  enough  to  antici- 
pate that." 

"I  thought  you  were  a  diagnostician,  as  well  as  a 
physician!"  She  threw  another  -quick  look  at  him, 
withdrawing  her  eyes  immediately. 

"Prognosis  is  my  specialty." 

"Oh,  I  shall  take  care  of  myself." 

"There's  no  defense  like  a  vigorous  attack." 

"I'm  not  going  after  you,"  she  protested. 

"But  is  there  a  psychological  condition,  Cly?" 

"That's  not  fair.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  tell, 
yourself — it's  your  own  theory.  The  trouble  is  that 
you're  too  theoretical.  You've  left  me  quite  out  of 
the  question  and  tried  to  do  it  all  yourself." 

She  put  her  head  on  one  side  with  unaccustomed 
coquetry.  There  was  a  new  glitter  in  her  eyes  which 
seemed  to  baffle  him.  For  the  first  time  she  had  the 
upper  hand  of  him  at  his  own  game.  He  was  like  a 
man  who  had  started  to  lift  a  heavy  weight  and  had 
suddenly  found  it  unexpectedly  light.  The  reaction 
threw  him  over. 

"Are  you  willing  to  help?"  he  asked. 

"Ah,  if  you  had  only  begun  that  way!" 
"Cly tie — do  you  mean — " 


554  THE   HEART   LINE 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  anything."  She  got  up  and 
took  a  turn  about  the  room  restlessly  as  she  spoke. 
"It's  my  turn  to  be  theoretical,  that's  all." 

He  leaned  toward  her  very  seriously.  "Clytie,  I'm 
terribly  in  earnest." 

"I'd  like  more  proof  of  it." 

"Would  you  ?    What  proof  can  T  give  ?" 

"There  you  are  on  the  other  side,  now,  making  me 
do  more  than  my  share.  I  don't  intend  to  teach  you, 
you  know!"  She  walked  away,  her  hands  behind  her 
back. 

"Could  you,  if  you  wanted  to?" 

"Oh,  I  think  I  might  show  you  a  few  things.  I 
have  my  ideas — most  women  have,  you  know.  Per- 
haps I'm  not  quite  so  cold  as  you  think."  She  shut 
her  eyes  a  moment  and  trembled.  "But  there's 
plenty  of  time." 

He  let  that  go,  gazing  with  curiosity  at  the  spots-  of 
red  on  her  cheeks.  It  was  not  a  blush;  the  color 
was  sustained.  She  never  looked  at  him  steadily, 
giving  him  only  a  flashing  glance,  now  and  again. 
Her  nostrils  were  expanded,  her  head  was  held  majes- 
tically erect.  There  was,  indeed,  plenty  of  time 
for  him,  and  he  took  it  coolly.  He  betrayed  still  a 
puzzled  interest — that  of  a  hunter  whose  quarry  was 
fluttering  so  that  he  could  not  get  in  his  shot. 

"You're  looking  very  beautiful,  to-day,  Cly." 

"To-day?"    She  emphasized  the  word. 

He  laughed.  "That's  the  time  I  put  the  mucilage 
brush  in  the  ink-bottle!  Queer  how  hard  it  is  to 
give  a  girl  a  compliment  that  she'll  accept." 

"I  beg  pardon — it  was  ungracious  of  me.  Try  me 
again." 


THE   SUNRISE  555 

"No,  I  was  clumsy.  But  compliments  aren't  my 
business.  I'm  not  a  palmist,  you  see." 

Again  she  drew  back  her  head  with  a  shake.  "I 
think  I  told  you  that  Mr.  Granthope  is  my  friend?" 
Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

She  walked  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  there,  leaning 
her  back  against  the  mantel,  tapping  her  heel  against 
the  fender. 

"I  told  you  he  wouldn't  last  long,"  Cayley  went  on. 
"He's  come  down  like  the  stick  of  a  rocket.  I  sus- 
pected he'd  be  leaving  town  before  the  month  was 
out." 

"Leaving  town — what  d'you  mean?"  She  was  keen, 
now. 

"I  had  to  go  up  into  the  Geary  Building  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  saw  his  boxes  outside  the  door  as  I 
passed.  I  took  it  that,  he's  leaving.  You  ought  to 
know,  I  should  think — if  he's  your  friend!" 

She  walked  up  to  the  window  and  back  before  an- 
swering. Then  she  came  up  to  him  with : 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  Blanchard;  I'm  not  going 
to  elope  with  him." 

"That's  good.  It  gives  you  a  chance  to  elope  with 
me!" 

"Oh,  it's  all  planned,  then?    How  exciting!" 

"I  was  invited  up  to  the  tavern  on  Tamalpais  and 
bring  a  girl  for  over  Sunday.  Mrs.  Page  is  the 
chaperon — she  calls  it  a  'sunrise  party.'  Will  you 
come  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows.    "Mrs.  Page  ?    Chaperon  ?" 

He  smiled.  "Oh,  you  needn't  worry ;  she's  all  right. 
Not  exactly  your  class,  but  you  needn't  mind  that — 
you'll  make  it  proper  by  going  yourself!" 


556  THE    HEART    LINE 

"You  really  want  me  to  go — with  Mrs.  Page?" 

"Why  not?" 

"It  sounds  a  bit  gay — you  know  I'm  not  exactly 
accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing — " 

"You  mustn't  believe  the  stories  you  hear  of  her." 

"I'll  go — and  find  out!"  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 
"Yes,  I'll  go;  what  time  does  the  boat  go?"  Her 
mood  had  grown  almost  eager. 

"We  can  just  catch  the  one  forty-five.  I'll  ring 
them  up  and  let  them  know  we're  coming." 

"No — I  want  to  see  her  face  when  she  first  sees  me. 
Mrs.  Page !"  she  laughed  to  herself  grimly. 

"Cly,  what's  the  matter  with  you  to-day?"  he  de- 
manded, turning  upon  her  suspiciously. 

She  opened  her  eyes  very  wide.     "Why?" 

"Oh,  you're  different." 

"So  are  you!"     Another  quick  glance  at  him. 

"How?" 

"Nicer."    How  she  drew  the  word  out! 

"Really?" 

"Why,  you're  actually  letting  me  go  with  Mrs. 
Page.  You  never  would,  before."  She  laughed  in  his 
face,  but  the  ring  sounded  metallic. 

"Oh,  well— I  didn^t  think  you  wanted  to.  I  didn't 
think  you  and  she  would — get  on." 

"Oh,  you'll  see  how  we'll  get  on!  Blanchard,  you 
never  suspected  I  had  any  spirit,  I  suppose?" 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"Guess!" 

He  dared  not;  but  appeared  to  take  the  credit  to 
himself.  He  began  actually  to  take  fire.  Clytie  was  a 
revelation  in  this  tantalizing  mood.  Where  had  her 
classic  reserves  gone?  What  had  inspired  her?  Now 


THE   SUNRISE  557 

she  was  like  other  girls — most  alluringly  like  those  he 
had  "educated."  Perhaps,  after  all,  women  were  all 
alike,  as  he  had  long  maintained,  in  theory.  All  this 
was  evident  in  his  pursuit  of  her — but  even  now  it 
was  a  cautious  chase.  He  made  sure  of  every  foot 
of  the  way. 

"I  wish  we  weren't  old  friends,"  he  said.  "It  is 
a  handicap,  isn't  it?  If  I  didn't  know  you  so  well — " 

"Oh,  I'll  show  you  things  you  never  knew!"  she 
interrupted,  playing  up  harder  and  harder.  "Don't 
be  afraid  of  my  resources.  I  have  a  trick  or  two  up 
my  sleeve.  We'll  forget  we  were  friends  and  get  ac- 
quainted all  over.  Come,  be  a  Martian — burst  a  new 
brain  cell,  as  I  have !"  She  gave  another  dry  laugh. 

"It  will  be  dangerous,"  he  warned. 

"Pooh!"     She  snapped  her  ringers  at  him. 

He  seized  her  hand  and  tried  to  hold  it. 

"Not  yet!"  she  said,  and  shook  her  ringer  fantas- 
tically. 

So,  like  a  wounded  bird,  she  lured  him  away  from 
her  nest.  The  luncheon-bell  rescued  her.  She  could 
not  have  lasted  much  longer.  During  the  luncheon, 
she  kept  him  skilfully  at  arm's  length,  and  before  they 
had  finished,  Mr.  Payson  came  in  and  surprised  them — 
and  himself. 

When  Clytie  went  up-stairs  to  prepare  for  the  trip 
he  put  his  hand  cordially  on  Cayley's  shoulder. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  and  Clytie  on  such  good 
terms.  It  looks  like  old  times." 

"I  think  perhaps  the  modern  method  is  going  to 
succeed,"  Cayley  said  with  a  satisfied  smile.  "Cly's 
been  nicer  than  she  has  been  for  weeks.  I  hear  Grant- 
hope's  disposed  of." 


558  THE    HEART   LINE 

"Oh,  I  guess  I  finished  him.  I  gave  him  a  piece  of 
my  mind,  and  her,  too.  Cly's  got  too  much  sense  not 
to  see  through  him.  I  hope  you'll  win  her,  Blanchard. 
I'm  getting  to  be  an  old  man,  and  I  want  to  see  her 
happily  settled.  This  exposure  has  hit  me  pretty 
hard,  and  if  Clytie  had  taken  up  with  that  palmist  on 
top  of  that,  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do.  Go  in  and 
get  her,  Blanchard — I'm  glad  she's  consented  to  go 
off  on  this  trip.  It'll  do  her  good.  It  ought  to  give 
you  a  good  chance." 

"You  can  trust  me  for  that !  I  think  the  time  has 
about  come  to  force  the  game.  I  may  have  something 
to  say  to  you  by  the  time  we  come  back." 

"I  hope  so,  indeed!"  said  the  old  man. 

Clytie  came  down  with  her  bag  and  kissed  her 
father  affectionately.  "Are  you  going  to  be  at  home 
this  afternoon?"  she  asked  him. 

"Why,  yes,  I  thought  of  it.  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do  for  you?" 

She  hesitated.  "N-no,  only  if  any  one  should  call — 
never  mind — only  there's  no  knowing  when  we  may  be 
back,"  she  added,  looking  at  Cayley.  "Blanchard  has 
threatened  to  elope  with  me,  you  know!  I'm  terribly 
afraid  he  won't  keep  his  promise,  though."  She  took 
his  arm  and  ran  him  down  the  steps  madly,  tossing 
her  father  a  kiss  from  the  path. 

Mr.  Payson  watched  them  complacently,  as  Clytie 
hurried  her  escort  through  the  gate.  They  had  plenty 
of  time  to  catch  the  boat,  and  her  haste  was  unusual. 
She  had  hinted  that  the  clock  was  slow,  but  his  watch 
assured  him  that  that  was  not  so.  He  shook  his  head. 

They  had  not  been  gone  fifteen  minutes  when  word 
wac  brought  up-stairs  to  Mr.  Payson  that  a  gentle- 


THE   SUNRISE  559 

man  was  waiting  to  see  him.  The  visitor  would  not 
give  his  name.  The  old  man  went  down. 

At  sight  of  the  caller,  his  face  set  hard  and  grim. 
His  shaggy  brows  drew  over  his  spectacles.  He 
stopped  suddenly,  but,  before  he  could  speak,  Grant- 
hope  had  come  forward. 

"I  must  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Payson,  for  not 
sending  up  my  name,  for  coming  here  at  all,  in  fact; 
but  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  see  you  this 
afternoon.  My  business  is  important  enough  to  be 
its  own  apology." 

"Sit  down,  sir!"  said  the  old  man,  taking  a  chair 
himself,  and  speaking  with  deliberation.  "I  will  listen 
to  what  you  have  to  say,  but  let  it  be  brief.  After  our 
last  interview  it  must  be  important,  indeed,  to  bring 
you  to  my  house  after  my  expressed  request  that  you 
should  stay  away." 

Granthope  remained  standing.  "It  is  an  extraor- 
dinary thing  that  has  brought  me;  but  if  it  were  not 
as  important  to  you  as  it  is  to  me,  you  may  be  sure  I 
wouldn't  have  consented  to  come." 

"Let  me  say  right  here,  young  man,  that  I  suspect 
your  business  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  blackmail, 
in  some  form.  It  is  what  I  expected.  But  I  tell  you 
in  advance  that  it  will  be  no  use,  and,  at  the  first  hint 
of  extortion,  I  shall  notify  the  police!" 

Granthope  smiled.  "I  could  hardly  call  it  black- 
mail," he  said.  "I've  never  included  that  in  my  list 
of  tricks." 

"What  the  devil  is  it,  then?  Out  with  it!  If  it's 
bad  news,  let  me  have  it  point-blank,  without  beating 
about  the  bush.  I  have  seen  enough  of  your  sort  to 
know  that  you  wouldn't  come  here  except  for  money, 


560  THE    HEART   LINE 

whatever  you  say.  But  I'm  a  little  wiser  than  I  was 
three  months  ago,  I  can  tell  you !  I've  had  my  lesson, 
and  you'll  get  nothing  out  of  me."  He  grew  more  and 
more  excited  over  his  grievance. 

"You  remember  that  I  warned  you  against  that 
gang?"  Granthope  interposed. 

"Yes,  and  they  warned  me  against  you,  too !  Birds 
of  a  feather!  Only  I  suspect  you  of  being  a  little 
shrewder." 

"Mr.  Payson,"  Granthope  said  earnestly,  "I  can't 
bear  these  insinuations!  Give  me  a  chance,  at  least, 
before  you  condemn  me.  I'll  tell  you  in  four  words 
what  I  came  for,  before  you  say  anything  more  that 
you  will  have  to  regret.  I  have  good  reason  to  believe 
that  I  am  your  son !" 

The  old  man  rose  from  his  chair  and  shook  his 
finger  in  Granthope's  face.  "That's  all  I  want  to 
hear!"  he  thundered.  "Leave  my  house  immediately, 
sir!  My  son,  are  you?  I  thought  so!  Good  God, 
wasn't  it  enough  for  Vixley  and  the  Spoil  woman  to 
try  and  work  that  game  on  me,  that  you  have  to  come 
and  begin  where  they  left  off?  After  I  had  found 
them  out,  too!  Do  you  take  me  for  a  damned  fool? 
Why,  you  people  don't  even  know  when  you're  shown 
up !  You  get  out  of  my  house  before  I  kick  you  out !" 
He  strode  to  the  door,  lowering,  and  held  it  sug- 
gestively open. 

Granthope  stared  at  him  in  astonishment,  with  no 
thought  of  moving.  This  was  the  last  thing  he  had 
expected.  At  first  his  surprise  was  too  great  for  his 
hopes  to  rise.  He  thought  of  nothing  but  the  angry 
man  in  front  of  him,  wondering  why  he  should  deny 
the  truth  so  vindictively. 


THE    SUNRISE  561 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  not  your  son?"  he 
said,  with  a  queer  perplexed  hesitation. 

"I  ask  you  to  leave  my  house,  sir !  Do  you  think 
111  permit  myself  to  discuss  such  a  subject  with  you?" 
Mr.  Payson's  scorn  was  towering. 

Granthope  still  stared.  What  did  it  mean?  He 
spoke  again,  earnestly,  trying  his  best  to  keep  calm. 
"Do  you  deny  that  you  have  a  son,  sir?  I  beg  you 
to  answer  me." 

"What  the  devil  should  I  deny  it  for?  What  busi- 
ness is  it  of  yours?"  the  old  man  roared.  "Why 
should  you  come  here  asking  me  such  outrageous 
questions  ?" 

"Mr.  Payson,"  Granthope  tried  again,  "I  told  you 
that  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  I  am  your  son. 
You  must  admit  that  that  gives  me  an  interest  in  the 
matter.  I  have  never  known  who  my  parents  were. 
You  needn't  be  afraid  of  my  forcing  myself  upon  you 
against  your  will,  or  attempting  to  get  money  from 
you — that  is  not  my  motive.  But  I  have  a  right, 
for  my  own  sake,  to  know  the  truth,  and  I  demand 
that  you  answer!" 

The  old  man  quailed  before  his  look  and  his  serious- 
ness, and  began  to  be  impressed  with  his  sincerity. 
"Very  well,  then,  I  will  answer  you.  No,  sir,  you 
are  not  my  son,  because  I  never  had  one,  to  my  know- 
ledge, at  least.  Does  that  satisfy  you?  Vixley  and 
the  Spoil  woman  tried  that  game  on  me  and  failed. 
Now,  Til  ask  you  to  leave  me  alone  in  peace.  I 
have  had  trouble  enough!"  His  first  burst  of  anger 
having  burned  itself  out,  he  weakened  under  the 
strain. 

Granthope  was  for  a  moment  at  a  loss  for  words. 


562  THE    HEART    LINE 

He  was  not  prepared  for  this  denial — he  must  begin 
all  over  again.  He  stood  with  his  hands  folded  for  a 
while,  and  then  said: 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Payson.  I  will  tell  you  now  what  I 
know,  and  you  may  judge  of  yourself  whether  or  not 
I  was  justified  in  coming." 

The  old  man's  countenance  was  irresolute;  his 
mouth  had  relaxed.  He  faced  Granthope  silently. 

"Did  you  ever  know  Felicia  Grant  ?"  said  Granthope 
next. 

Mr.  Payson  exploded  again.  "Oh,  you've  got  hold 
of  that,  have  you?  I  thought  as  much.  So  you've 
been  in  league  with  that  gang  all  along!  I  see;  all 
this  pretended  enmity  was  only  a  part  of  the  game! 
Very  clever,  sir,  very  clever !"  He  began  to  walk 
up  and  down,  bobbing  his  head. 

"I  lived  with  Madam  Grant  when  I  was  a  child," 
Granthope  persisted  calmly. 

"What's  that?"  Mr.  Payson  went  up  to  him,  now, 
and  took  him  by  the  arm.  "For  God's  sake,  man, 
don't  lie  to  me!" 

"I  lived  with  her  for  three  years.  I  was  with  her 
when  she  died — " 

"You !"  the  old  man  exclaimed.  He  stared  into 
Granthope's  face  as  if  he  could  surprise  the  truth 
from  him.  "If  I  could  be  sure  of  that!"  he  cried  in 
distress.  "For  God's  sake,  don't  play  with  me !"  he 
implored.  "I  have  no  faith  in  any  one  any  more. 
How  can  I  believe  you?" 

Granthope  dropped  his  voice  to  a  soothing  pitch 
and  took  the  old  man's  hand  in  his  with  a  firm  clasp 
of  assurance.  "My  dear  Mr.  Payson,"  he  said,  "I 
can  give  you  plenty  of  proof  of  it,  if  you  will  only 


THE   SUNRISE  563 

listen  to  me.  I  came  to  her,  where  from  I  never 
knew,  as  a  child  of  five.  She  took  me  in,  and  I  lived 
with  her  till  she  died.  She  was  like  a  mother  to  me — 
I  would  be  glad  to  hear  that  she  was  really  my  mother, 
for  I  loved  her.  I  have  come  to  you  because  I  thought 
that  she  must  have  been  that,  and  you  my  father. 
But  I  would  be  the  happiest  man  alive  if  you  could 
assure  me  that  there  is  no  relationship  between  you 
and  me.  What  I  know  of  you,  I  found  out  through 
Masterson— and  he  may  have  lied,  but  it  seemed 
probable  that  it  was  true.  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  th  * 
truth,  for  if  you  are  my  father  it  means  more  to 
me  than  anything  else  in  the  world." 

"I  think  I  can  believe  you  now,"  said  Mr.  Payson, 
still  with  his  eyes  fastened  on  Granthope.  "You  seem 
to  be  honest,  though  I  have  about  lost  my  faith  in 
human  nature.  So  I  will  be  honest  with  you.  But 
I  can  only  repeat  what  I  told  you  before.  You  are 
not  my  son.  I  never  had  a  son." 

A  wild  hope  sprang  up  in  Granthope's  heart ;  though 
as  yet  it  seemed  impossible.  "But  you  knew  Felicia 
Grant?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  I  knew  her  well." 

"Your  picture  was  in  her  room — an  old  newspaper 
cut—" 

The  old  man  grasped  his  hand  again  with  both  his 
own.  "Ah,  I  know  you  are  the  boy,  now!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  have  looked  everywhere  for  you !  Thank 
God,  I  have  found  you  before  it  was  too  late !  Do  you 
know  how  I  have  longed  for  you  for  twenty  years  ? — 
for  the  boy  who  stood  by  Felicia  through  that  long, 
terrible  time,  when  I  could  do  nothing — nothing? 
Granthope,  I  don't  care  what  you  have  been — 


564  THE  HEART  LINE 

charlatan  or  fakir  or  criminal,  there's  a  debt  I  owe 
you,  and  I  shall  pay  it !  Oh,  you  don't  know !  You 
don't  know!"  He  stopped  and  held  out  his  hands 
pathetically.  "Why,  it  was  to  find  you  that  I  first 
went  to  Madam  Spoil!  I  don't  know  how  I  can 
apologize  or  make  up  for  the  way  I've  treated  you — 
you,  of  all  men  in  the  world !" 

"But  I  can't  understand  yet,"  said  Granthope, 
touched  at  the  old  man's  atonement.  "I  heard — from 
Vixley,  it  came — that  you  had  acknowledged — you 
must  forgive  me — to  an  illegitimate  son.  Can  you 
blame  me  for  thinking  that  it  must  be  I  ?" 

The  old  man  dropped  his  head  on  his  hand.  "I 
see,  now,"  he  said  drearily.  "Oh,  it  must  all  come 
out,  I  suppose.  I  owe  it  to  you  to  tell  you,  at  least." 

"You  need  tell  me  nothing  more  than  you  have 
told,"  Granthope  said  eagerly.  "I  didn't  come  here 
to  pry  into  your  secrets,  Mr.  Payson,  or  to  make  use 
of  them." 

"Oh,  I  know,  now!  But  it  is  hard  to  speak.  And 
I  don't  know  even  whether  I  have  the  right  to  tell 
or  not.  It's  not  my  secret  alone.  But  tell  me  first 
what  else  you  know."  He  took  a  chair  again  and 
motioned  for  Granthope  to  sit  down. 

"I  know  that  Madam  Grant  had  a  wedding  trous- 
seau that  she  kept  in  a  trunk,  and  that  the  same  trunk 
with  the  same  contents,  is  now  up-stairs  in  your  gar- 
ret." 

"How  can  you  know  that?" 

"I  saw  it  last  night.  Your  daughter  showed  it  to 
me." 

"Clytie — she  showed  it  to  you?  You  were  here? 
How  could  that  be?" 


THE    SUNRISE  565 

"It  means,  Mr.  Payson,  that  I  love  your  daughter — 
that  we  love  each  other.  There  is  no  time  to  explain 
how  that  came  about,  now,  but  I  hope  to  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  worthy  of  her.  We  have  .met  often 
since  you  forbade  me  to  come  here.  We  were  tacitly 
engaged,  when  I  got  this  information — that  you  had 
a  child — and  that  Felicia  Grant  was  the  mother. 
There  was  only  one  solution  of  the  mystery — that  I 
was  that  child,  and  that  Clytie  and  I  were  half-brother 
and  sister.  We  had  to  be  sure  before  we  broke  off 
our  affair,  and  I  came  up  here  to  identify  the  trunk 
she  had  seen.  I  had  to  tell  her  what  I  thought  was 
the  truth,  and  last  night  we  parted — for  ever.  You 
may  imagine  now  how  I  long  to  believe  what  you 
say,  yet  how  impossible  it  seems !" 

"Clytie  knows — that  I  had  a  child,  by  Felicia?" 

"I  had  to  tell  her — I  could  not  let  things  go  on — " 

"Ah,  now  I  see  how  Madam  Spoil  went  astray — 
I  confessed  to  a  child — I  wanted  to  find  the  boy — she 
thought  the  two  were  the  same — she  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  had  had  a  son." 

"And  you  had  no  son?"  Granthope  said,  still  mysti- 
fied. 

"No,  I  had  a  daughter.  Do  you  see,  now  ?  I  hoped 
to  hide  it  from  Clytie  for  ever.  I  thought  I  had 
hidden  it  successfully,  and  it  was  better,  for  her,  so. 
But  now,  if  she  knows  so  much,  she  must,  of  course, 
be  told  all.  It  is  right  that  she  should  know.  Poor 
child !  But  you  knew  Felicia — you  know  that  she  was 
no  common  woman— that  ours  could  have  been  no 
common  affair!" 

"I  know  that  well.  And  you  needn't  fear  for  Clytie, 
Mr.  Payson.  I  don't  think  it  will  be  even  a  shock 


566  THE    HEART   LINE 

for  her.  It  isn't  as  if  she  had  known  Mrs.  Payson 
well." 

The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  closed  his 
eyes.  "Ah,  they  were  two  wonderful  women,  Grant- 
hope  !  I  could  scarcely  know  which  was  the  more  so — • 
which  was  the  more  magnanimous  and  true!"  He 
was  quiet  a  while,  then  he  added :  "Do  you  remember 
Felicia  well?" 

"No,  not  well.  I  was  young  then,  and  the  memory 
has  faded.  But  she  seemed  to  be  very  beautiful  to 
me,  though  her  face  would  often  grow  suddenly 
strange.  She  was  kind  to  me.  She  seemed  to  be 
extraordinarily  well  educated,  too — different  from 
any  one  else  I  have  ever  known." 

Mr.  Payson  rose  and  saying,  "Wait  a  moment, 
please !"  left  the  room.  He  returned  after  a  few  min- 
utes with  a  small  photograph,  faded  with  age,  but 
still  clear  enough  to  portray  the  features  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  apparently  of  some  twenty  years  or  so.  The 
face  was  frank  and  open,  the  eyes  wide  apart  under 
level  brows,  looking  directly  out  of  the  picture.  The 
mouth  was  large,  but  well-formed.  The  face  had 
a  look  of  candor  and  serene  earnestness  that  was  en- 
gaging. 

"That  was  taken  in  1869,  when  I  first  knew  her. 
You  can  see,  perhaps,  how  I  must  have  felt  towards 
her.  There  is  enough  of  Clytie  in  that  face  for  that, 
I  suppose.  But  I  doubt  if  you  are  capable  of  the 
passion  I  had  for  that  woman !" 

As  Granthope  held  the  portrait  in  his  hand,  watch- 
ing the  face  that  grew  every  moment  more  familiar, 
the  old  man  went  on: 

"I  can  tell  you  only  the  oiitline  of  the  story  now- 


THE  .SUNRISE  567 

Felicia  Gerard,  when  I  first  knew  her,  was  working 
with  Mrs.  Victoria  Woodhull — a  wonderful  woman — 
have  you  ever  heard  of  her?" 

Granthope  told  him  of  the  newspaper  clipping  Cly- 
tie  had  found,  and  how  they  had,  in  the  library,  looked 
up  the  history  of  Mrs.  Woodhull,  who  had  been  a 
prominent  figure  in  the  East  thirty  years  ago.  It  was 
more  unusual,  then,  for  women  to  compete  with  men 
in  business  affairs,  but  she,  with  her  sister,  had  car- 
ried on  a  successful  banking  firm  on  Wall  Street. 
What  had  interested  Clytie  most,  however,  were  the 
stories  of  Mrs.  Woodhull's  early  experience  as  a  me- 
dium, and  the  fact  that  she  had  been  calumniated, 
persecuted  and  ostracized  on  account  of  the  false  inter- 
pretation of  her  views  upon  social  questions. 

"You  may  imagine  the  effect  that  such  a  person 
would  have  upon  such  a  spirited  girl  as  Felicia,"  said 
Mr.  Payson.  "She  was  carried  away  with  her  enthusi- 
asm and  energy,  and  the  conflict  inspired  her.  I 
followed  them  from  city  to  city,  urging  Felicia  to 
marry  me,  but,  having  adopted  the  radical  social 
theories  of  that  cult,  she  was  firm  in  her  refusal  not  to 
bind  herself  or  me  to  an  indissoluble  union.  Well,  I 
could  get  her  in  no  other  way  than  by  accepting  her  as 
a  partner  who  should  be  free  to  leave  me  the  moment 
she  ceased  to  love  me;  you  may  be  sure  that  her  ac- 
tion was  inspired  only  by  the  highest  ideality.  We 
settled  finally  in  New  Orleans  where,  for  some  time, 
we  were  absolutely  happy.  But  New  Orleans  was, 
and  is,  I  believe,  a  more  conservative  sort  of  commun- 
ity than  most  American  cities.  People  shunned  us, 
and  talked.  At  last,  isolated  and  away  from  radical 
centers,  she  consented  to  a  marriage  ceremony,  and 


568  THE    HEART    LINE 

went  to  work  to  prepare  her  trousseau.  We  were  to 
be  married  in  San  Francisco." 

The  old  man's  face  had  grown  wistful  and  tender  as 
he  spoke.  He  pulled  off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  them, 
and  looked  up  at  Granthope  with  a  sort  of  pride  in  the 
story,  in  the  beauty  and  pathos  of  it  evoked  by  his 
memories.  Then  he  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
floor,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  his  mellow,  unc- 
tuous voice  ran  on.  To  Granthope,  who  had  known 
the  woman,  and  loved  her,  the  story  thrilled  with 
romance. 

"It  was  curious  that  she  insisted  upon  a  formal 
wedding.  It  was  a  reaction,  I  suppose;  she  had  re- 
turned to  the  normal  instincts  of  womanhood.  I  was 
only  too  willing.  Well,  it  was  in  New  Orleans  that 
the  crisis  came.  We  were  living  in  an  old  Creole 
house  on  Royal  Street — it  had  been  Paul  Morphy's, 
the  chess-player — Felicia  saw  his  spirit  in  the  end 
room,  where  he  died,  one  night.  There  was  an  old 
gallery  around  the  courtyard  and  garden,  with  mag- 
nolia trees,  where  we  used  to  sit  in  the  evenings. 
Heavens!  what  nights  we  have  spent  there! 

"She  had  told  me  that  her  grandmother  had  been 
insane.  It  was  Felicia's  horror,  her  dread.  The 
spirits  had  told  her  that  she  would  go  mad,  too.  That 
was,  I  suppose,  the  real  reason  why  she  had  refused 
so  long  to  marry  me.  But  she  had  almost  forgotten 
about  it  by  this  time.  We  were  happy  enough  to 
forget  everything! 

"Are  you  interested,  Granthope,  or  does  this  bore 
you?"  he  added  suddenly,  turning.  "I'm  an  old  man, 
after  all,  and  I  have  an  old  man's  ways.  The  past 
is  very  real  to  me." 


THE   SUNRISE  569 

"Go  on,  please!"  said  Granthope  huskily. 

"It  happened  just  before  Mardi  Gras.  We  had  de~ 
cided  to  stay  over,  and  see  the  fun.  That  Monday, 
when  I  came  home,  Felicia  was  gone.  She  had  left 
a  note,  saying  that'  she  would  never  see  me  again — 
I'll  show  you  that — and  a  lot  of  other  things;  they 
will  help  you  to  understand  Clytie.  It  seems  that 
day  she  had  gone  suddenly  out  of  her  head  and  had 
wandered  across  the  street  to  another  house,  where 
they  kept  a  leper  girl  shut  up  in  a  room  on  the  gallery. 
They  carried  her  home,  raving  rather  wildly,  and  she 
came  to  her  senses  in  an  hour  or  so,  but  she  was  terri- 
fied by  the  attack.  She  saw  that  she  would  probably  be 
subject  to  such  attacks  in  the  future ;  that  they  might 
become  worse;  that  it  was  not  fair  to  me  to  marry. 
I  don't  need  to  tell  you,  I  hope,  that  it  would  have 
made  no  difference  to  me — I  would  have  been  glad  to 
give  my  life  to  attending  to  her  through  thick  and 
thin.  But  she  didn't  wait  to  put  it  to  me.  She  left, 
with  all  her  clothes,  even  the  trousseau.  She  left  no 
address,  nothing  by  which  I  could  trace  her.  That 
was  her  way,  the  only  fair  way,  she  thought.  It  must 
have  taken  some  courage.  It  was,  I  think,  the  bravest 
thing  I  ever  saw  done. 

"Let  me  see  that  photograph  a  minute,  Granthope. 
What  a  lot  of  hair  she  had !  I've  seen  it  to  her  feet. 
Cly  has  fine  hair,  but  not  like  her  mother's.  The 
same  eyes,  you  see — full  of  dreams,  but  they  wake  up, 
sometimes,  I  tell  you !  You  may  find  out,  sometime. 
Level  brows  and  a  fullish  lower  lip.  Do  you  know 
what  that  means  ?  I  do. 

"I  didn't  see  her  again  for  over  a  year.  I  hunted 
everywhere  she  had  ever  been;  Boston,  Toledo,  New 


570  THE    HEART    LINE 

York,  everywhere!  Finally  I  gave  it  up  in  despair, 
and  went  abroad,  trying  to  forget  part  of  it.  There  I 
met  my  wife.  I  married  her  in  sheer  despair;  but  I 
found  out  how  fine  she  was  when  I  told  her  the  story. 
I  didn't  think  that  there  were  two  such  women  in  the 
world!  I  have  a  beautiful  painting  of  her,  done 
while  we  were  in  Florence,  but  I  never  dared  to  put  it 
up,  on  account  of  Clytie.  It  didn't  seem  right.  But 
you'll  see  it  in  the  dining-room  to-morrow,  I  think. 

"Where  was  I?  Oh,  yes.  We  came  to  San  Fran- 
cisco for  business  reasons.  Before  I  had  been  here  a 
week  I  happened  upon  Felicia  down-town — she  had 
followed  Mrs.  Woodhull's  example  and  had  gone  into 
business  herself — real  estate.  She  did  well  at  it,  too. 
But  at  sight  of  me  she  flew  off  the  handle.  Every 
time  I  saw  her  it  affected  her  in  the  same  way.  Good 
God !  Can  you  imagine  what  it  must  be  to  know  that 
the  only  way  you  can  help  a  woman  you  love  and 
pity  is  to  stay  away  from  her  ?  I  couldn't  do  anything, 
but  my  wife  went  to  see  her  and  seemed  to  be  able  to 
pacify  her.  She  found  out  that  Felicia  had  a  child- 
then  a  few  months  old.  The  first  I  knew  of  it,  the 
baby  .was  here  in  the  house,  and  my  wife  told  me  that 
we  would  adopt  her.  No  one  ever  knew  that  Clytie 
wasn't  our  own  child.  No  one  knows  but  you  and 
I,  to  this  day,  I  think. 

"It  was  a  fearful  injustice  to  her,  I  suppose.  Do 
you  think  she  can  forgive  me?"  The  old  man  was 
pathetically  humble  and  looked  to  the  young  man  as 
to  a  guardian. 

"Mr.  Payson,"  said  Granthope,  "have  you  lived  all 
this  while  with  her  and  not  known  that?  I  have 
known  her  only  two  months,  and  I  am  sure  of  it !" 


THE   SUNRISE  571 

"So  you  think  you  love  her,  do  you?"  Mr.  Payson 
looked  at  him  curiously. 

"I  do,  sir.     And  I  think  that  she  loves  me." 

"Felicia's  adopted  boy!"  the  old  man  said  to  him- 
self, "and  Clytie !  And  to  think  that  I  had  wanted  her 
to  marry  Cayley !" 

He  broke  off  to  stand,  staring  at  Granthope,  with- 
out a  word.  Then  he  exclaimed:  "By  Jove!  I  had 
forgotten.  Cayley  was  here  to-day — Cly's  gone  off 
with  him,  up  to  Mount  Tamalpais,  to  join  a  party 
there.  Now  I  recall  it — there  seemed  to  be  something 
between  them.  You  are  sure  she  cares  for  you?"  he 
demanded. 

"Last  night  she  did — and  we  parted,  thinking  never 
to  be  able  to  see  one  another  again." 

"And  I  did  my  best  to  make  that  match — I  en- 
couraged Blanchard  all  I  could.  I  threw  her  at  his 
head!  I  found  them  here  at  luncheon.  He's  been 
trying  for  years  to  get  her  to  marry  him.  You  don't 
think  it's  possible  that  she  would  do  anything  rash, 
do  you?" 

Granthope's  heart  sickened.  "In  what  way? 
How?" 

"She  said — what  was  it — the  last  thing.  She  said 
that  he  had  threatened  to  elope  with  her,  and  perhaps 
they  mightn't  come  back  for  some  time.  I  thought  it 
was  a  joke,  but  now  I  think  of  it — " 

Granthope  sprang  up.  "What  time  did  they  go?" 
he  asked. 

"Just  before  you  came — they  took  the  one  forty- 
five." 

"We  can't  reach  her  by  telephone — they're  not  there 
yet.  What  time  does  the  next  train  go?" 


572  THE   HEART   LINE 

Mr  Payson  turned  to  an  Argonaut  and  looked 
at  the  time-table  on  the  last  page.  "Saturdays — four 
thirty-five,"  lie  said. 

"I  must  go  after  her!"  Granhope  cried,  almost  des- 
perate. "Don't  you  see — don't  you  know  women  well 
enough  to  understand  what  a  state  of  mind  she  must 
be  in,  now?  After  our  scene  last  night,  the  despair 
of  it  would  drive  her  to  almost  anything  reckless, 
anything  to  make  her  forget!  It  seemed  wicked, 
monstrous,  for  us  to  meet  again — it  seemed  irrevoca- 
ble, final.  If  Cayley  has  been  pursuing  her,  as  you 
say,  she  may  accept  him  in  sheer  desperation!" 

"Go  up  there,"  said  the  old  man.  "Go  up,  and  tell 
her  everything.  It  is  better  for  you  to  tell  her.  Cay- 
ley  will  resent  your  appearance,  but  don't  mind  that — 
get  rid  of  him  at  any  cost.  You  will  have  to  manage 
him.  If  Clytie  is  in  love  with  you,  I'll  stand  by  her  in 
whatever  she  says.  Don't  think  I'm  a'  doting  fool, 
Granthope,  that  I  veer  with  the  wind,  this  way.  I 
wanted  her  to  marry  Cayley,  because  I  thought  she'd 
never  know  this,  and  he  was  a  man  of  honor  and 
intelligence.  But  I  didn't  know  that  Felicia's  boy  was 
alive." 

Granthope  left  in  a  tumult  of  doubt.  He  knew 
little  of  Cayley,  save  that  he  was  subtle  and  indefati- 
gable with  women- — and  that  he  was  unscrupulous 
enough  to  have  betrayed  his  friend  to  Vixley.  But 
how  far  Clytie's  revulsion  of  feeling  would  have  car- 
ried her  by  this  time,  he  dared  not  think.  She  was  in 
a  parlous  state,  and  ripe  for  any  extreme  impulse. 

The  trip  to  Sausalito  was  almost  intolerable.  On 
the  train  to  Mill  Valley,  his  anxiety  smoldered  till 


THE    SUNRISE  573 

his  spirit  was  ashes.  His  mind  fought  all  the  way  up 
the  mountain  track,  faring  to  and  fro,  sinuously,  as 
the  line  wound,  in  tortuous  loops,  gaining  altitude  in 
tempered  grades.  As  they  rose,  the  bay  unfolded, 
shimmering  below,  curving  about  the  peninsula  of 
San  Francisco,  where,  amidst  the  pearl-gray,  the  win- 
dows of  the  city  caught,  here  and  there,  the  level 
rays  from  the  vivid  west.  The  air  was  cool  and  salt. 
As  they  rounded  a  spur,  the  Pacific  burst  upon  them, 
miles  and  miles  of  twinkling  sparks  on  the  dullness 
of  the  sea  floor.  A  bank  of  fog  hovered  upon  the 
horizon.  Just  above  it  the  sun  poised,  then  sank, 
bloody  red,  tingeing  the  cloud  with  color  and  sending 
streamers  to  the  zenith.  Still  his  mind  urged  the 
train  to  its  climb.  It  was  as  if  he  put  his  shoulder  to 
the  car  to  impel  it  upward  in  his  haste,  so  intense  was 
his  expectancy.  So,  at  last,  the  train  rolled  up  to  the 
station  by  the  Tavern. 

There  was  a  crowd  waiting  upon  the  platform,  and 
his  eyes  sought  here  and  there  for  Clytie.  There 
she  .was,  incongruous  with  the  party — Cayley,  easy, 
jocose,  elegant — Mrs.  Page,  full-blown,  sumptuous 
and  glossy,  abandoned  to  frivolity,  her  black  hair 
blowing  in  the  wind — and  Gay  P.  Summer,  jaunty, 
pink-and-white,  immaculate  in  outing  attire.  There 
was  another  lady  whom  Granthope  did  not  know.  He 
walked  rapidly  up  to  them,  calm,  now,  and  confident, 
equal  to  the  situation,  whatever  it  might  be. 

Mrs.  Page  pounced  upon  him  with  a  little  scream 
of  delight,  and  towed  him  up  to  the  group.  Clytie's 
narrow  eyes  widened  in  surprise,  and  she  turned  paler 
as  she  looked  at  him  in  vain  for  an  answer  to  her 
signal  of  distress. 


574  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Why,  Mr.  Granthope !"  Mrs.  Page  shouted.  "Did 
you  ever  in  your  life !  What  fun !  Aren't  you  a  duck 
to  come — you're  just  the  man  we  want!  If  I  had 
imagined  that  you  could  be  induced  to  come  up  here, 
I  would  have  let  you  know !  But  then,  probably,  you 
wouldn't  have  come!  We  needed  another  man  so 
badly!  I'm  so  glad!  I  think  you  know  all  of  us 
here,  except  Miss  Cavendish,  don't  you  ?  Miss  Caven- 
dish, let  me  present  Mr.  Granthope.  You  know  I've 
told  you  about  him." 

Miss  Cavendish  smiled,  looked  him  over  with  un- 
disguised amusement,  and  with  a  gesture  passed  him 
over  to  Clytie.  Clytie  gave  him  a  cold  hand,  looked 
him  steadfastly  in  the  eyes,  then  dropped  hers  and 
waited  for  her  cue. 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  take  me  in,  Mrs.  Page. 
I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  inviting  myself.  I  only  just 
ran  up  for  the  night,  and  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  your  plans  at  all." 

"Oh,  don't  say  a  word!  We  were  dying  for  an- 
other man.  We're  all  delighted.  Now  we're  six,  you 
see — just  right.  You  can  flirt  with  the  chaperon." 

"Come  and  have  a  drink,  first  thing,"  said  Gay  P. 
Summer,  taking  upon  himself  seriously  the  conven- 
tional obligations  of  host.  "You  must  be  cold,  Grant- 
hope,  without  an  overcoat.  We'll  be  back  in  a  minute, 
Violet.  Come  on,  Cay  ley!" 

He  led  the  way  into  the  bar.  Granthope  followed 
with  Cayley,  watching  for  a  word  in  private.  "I 
want  to  speak  to  you  alone,"  he  tossed  over  his 
shoulder.  Cayley  nodded. 

After  the  formalities  were  over,  Granthope  re- 
marked: "Well,  I  think  I'll  go  in  and  get  a  room, 


THE    SUNRISE  575 

Summer.  You  go  out  and  get  the  ladies  while  Cayley 
and  I  go  up-stairs  a  minute." 

Gay  P.,  suspecting  nothing,  left  the  two  men  alone. 
Cayley  took  a  seat  on  a  small  table  and  waited.  Grant- 
hope  lost  no  time  in  preliminaries. 

"Mr.  Cayley,"  he  said,  pulling  out  his  watch,  "what 
time  does  the  next  train  go  down  the  mountain?" 

"There's  one  soon  after  nine,  I  believe — why?" 
Cayley  answered. 

Granthope  looked  at  him  without  visible  emotion 
and  said  nonchalantly,  "I  think  you'd  better  take  it." 

A  hot  flush  burned  in  Cayley's  cheeks,  and  he 
drew  back  as  if  ready  either  to  give  or  to  receive  a 
blow.  "Did  you  come  up  here  to  tell  me  that?"  he 
said  harshly. 

"I  did — that  amongst  other  things." 

"Are  you  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me?  If  you 
are,  I  think  I  can  accommodate  you.  Come  outside." 

"No,  I  came  up  here  to  avoid  one.  If  I  had  met 
you  anywhere  else,  I  suppose  you'd  be  knocked  down, 
by  this  time."  Granthope's  tone  was  unimpassioned, 
matter-of-fact. 

"This  is  getting  interesting,"  said  Cayley,  now  as 
suave  as  his  opponent.  "May  I  ask  you  to  explain?" 

"I  had  a  talk  with  Doctor  Masterson  this  morning. 
You  may  not  be  acquainted  with  him — he's  a  friend 
of  Professor  Vixley's,  whom  I  believe,  you  do  know." 

Cayley's  color  went  back,  and  his  attitude  relaxed 
from  defiance  to  something  less  assertive. 

"He  told  me  a  few  things  about  you,  Mr.  Cayley," 
Granthope  went  on  firmly.  "I  don't  intend  to  repeat 
them.  But  what  I  do  intend  is  that  you  shall  make 
whatever  excuses  you  see  fit  to  Mrs.  Page  and  the 


576  THE    HEART   LINE 

others,  and  leave  here  on  the  next  train.  Do  you 
understand  perfectly,  or  shall  I  go  into  details?" 

"Oh,  I  won't  trouble  you,  Granthope,"  Cayley 
drawled.  "I  don't  think  the  crowd  would  be  very 
amusing  with  you  here,  anyway.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you  for  giving  me  the  opportunity  to  leave,  I'm 
sure." 

He  smiled,  Granthope  smiled,  and  the  two  separated. 
Cayley  walked  up  to  speak  to  the  clerk  in  the  office, 
and  then  sauntered  toward  the  ladies  on  the  porch. 
Granthope  was  given  a  room,  and  went  up-stairs. 

When  he  returned  the  party  was  talking  on  the  ve- 
randa, and  there  was  no  chance  to  speak  to  Clytie 
alone.  What  he  could  do  to  reassure  her  by  his 
glance,  he  did,  but  she  was  evidently  so  much  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  his  appearance  that  she  had  placed 
some  alarming  interpretation  upon  it.  She  did  not 
speak,  but  her  silence  was  unnoticed  in  Mrs.  Page's 
volubility.  As  they  stood  there,  a  bell-boy  came  out 
and  notified  Cayley  that  there  was  a  telephone  call 
for  him.  Cayley  apologized  and  left  to  go  inside. 
Granthope  watched  him  with  satisfaction. 

Clytie  moved  off  down  the  veranda  a  little  way, 
and  Granthope,  seeing  his  opportunity,  followed  her. 

He  had  time  but  to  say,  "It's  all  right,  Clytie — it's 
all  right !" 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  wonder,  and  at  his  words 
life  and  hope  came  back  to  her  and  shone  in  her  eyes. 
She  did  not  understand  yet,  but  the  message  was  an 
elixir  of  joy  to  her.  On  the  instant  Gay  and  Miss 
Cavendish  joined  them,  chattering. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Granthope,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Summer  and 
I  have  been  wrangling  all  this  afternoon  over  3 


THE    SUNRISE  577 

discussion,  and  we  want  your  decision.  You  ought  to 
know,  if  anybody  does.  Which  knows  most  about 
women — the  man  who  knows  all  about  some  woman, 
or  the  man  who  knows  some  about  all  women?" 

Granthope  laughed.  "I  think  they'd  be  equally 
foolish.  No  man  knows  anything  about  any  woman." 

"Of  course  that's  the  proper  answer,"  said  Miss 
Cavendish.  "We're  all  mysteries,  aren't  we?" 

"Even  to  ourselves,"  Clytie  offered. 

"Oh,  yes,  women  understand  other  women,  but  they 
never  understand  themselves." 

Gay  P.  Summer  put  in,  "I  don't  think  any  man  ever 
understands  women  who  hasn't  had  sisters.  I  never 
had  one." 

"That's  true,"  said  Granthope.  He  saw  his  chance, 
and  turned  to  Clytie.  "I  never  had  a  sister,  either," 
he  said  deliberately,  catching  her  eye. 

Clytie's  eyebrows  went  up.  He  nodded.  It  was 
question  and  answer.  She  moved  toward  him  a  little, 
unnoticed,  and  his  hand  touched  hers. 

Mr.  Summer  added :  "I  don't  care,  though,  I  prefer 
to  have  women  mysteries.  It's  more  interesting." 

Mrs.  Page  came  up  in  time  to  hear  the  last  words. 
"Oscar  Wilde  says  that  women  are  sphinxes  without 
secrets,"  she  contributed. 

"I  wonder  if  any  woman  is  happy  enough'  not  to 
have  a  secret,"  Clytie  said. 

"I  hope  that  yours  will  never  make  you  unhappy," 
Granthope  replied ;  and  added :  "I  don't  think  it  will." 
He  pressed  her  hand  again,  unobserved. 

At  this  moment,  Cayley  returned. 

"Something  doing,  Mr,  Cayley?"  said  Miss  Caven- 
dish mischievously. 


THE   HEART    LINE 


"Yes,  unfortunately.  It's  a  matter  of  business  and 
important.  I've  got  to  see  a  man  to-morrow  morning 
in  the  city.  It's  too  bad,  but  I'll  have  to  go  down  to- 
night, after  all." 

"Why,  the  idea!"  Mrs.  Page  cried  indignantly. 
"You'll  do  no  such  a  thing  !  It's  outrageous  !  We 
can't  possibly  spare  you,  Blan  ;  you'll  spoil  the  party  !" 

"It's  my  loss.  I've  got  to  go,  really  !"  said  Cayley. 
He  turned  to  Clytie.  "I'll  have  to  turn  you  over  to 
Mr.  Granthope,  I'm  afraid.  I  don't  want  you  to  miss 
the  time,  of  course." 

Clytie  looked  at  Granthope,  puzzled. 

"You  shan't  go,  anyway,  Miss  Payson!"  Mrs.  Page 
insisted.  "Why,  we're  going  to  get  up  and  see  the 
sunrise  to-morrow  morning!  That's  what  we  came 
for.  Please  don't  break  up  the  party,"  she  begged. 

Clytie  smiled  subtly,  and  hazarded  another  glance 
at  Granthope. 

"I  really  came  up  to  bring  Miss  Payson  home,"  he 
said,  "but  of  course  I'll  leave  it  to  her.  The  fact  is, 
I've  brought  her  a  message  from  her  father." 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Page  exclaimed,  "I  do  hope  it  isn't  bad 
news." 

"On  the  contrary,  it's  good,  I  think.  Nevertheless, 
I'll  have  to  break  it  to  her  gently.  And  with  your 
permission,  I  will,  now." 

A  look  at  Clytie,  and  she  walked  off  with  him  up 
toward  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

"What  can  it  be,  Francis?"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm 
all  at  sea.  But  of  course  I  understood  from  what  you 
said  that  it  was,  somehow,  all  right." 

"Clytie,"  he  said,  "it  is  all  right  —  weVe  passed  the 
last  obstacle,  I  think.  But  it's  hard  to  know  how  tc 


THE    SUNRISE  579 

tell  you.  If  you'll  let  me  tell  it  my  way,  I'll  say  that, 
of  all  the  women  I  have  ever  known  in  my  life,  the 
two  whom  I  have  loved  best  were — " 

"Me— and—  ?"    She  held  his  hand  tightly. 

"You  and  your  mother." 

She  seemed  to  be  in  no  way  surprised,  new  as  the 
thought  was  to  her.  It  only  struck  her  dumb  for  a 
while.  Then  she  said: 

"I  must  telephone  to  father  at  once.  Oh,  I  must  re- 
assure him!" 

"Shall  we  go  back?"  he  asked. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  deliberating.  Then  she  put 
her  arm  in  his.  "I've  seen  the  stars  and  moon,"  she 
said,  "I've  seen  the  lightning,  I've  seen  the  false  dawn. 
Let's  stay,  now,  and  see  the  sunrise!" 

They  walked,  arm  in  arm,  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  and  sat  down  upon  a  rock  to  gaze  at  the 
city,  far  away. 

There  it  lay,  a  constellation  of  lights,  a  golden 
radiance,  dimmed  by  the  distance.  San  Francisco  the 
Impossible,  the  City  of  Miracles!  Of  it  and  its 
people  many  stories  have  been  told,  and  many  shall 
be ;  but  a  thousand  tales  shall  not  exhaust  its  treasury 
of  Romance.  Earthquake  and  fire  shall  not  change, 
it,  terror  and  suffering  shall  not  break  its  glad,  mad 
spirit.  Time  alone  can  tame  the  town,  restrain  its 
wanton  manners,  refine  its  terrible  beauty,  rob  it  of  its 
nameless  charm,  subdue  it  to  the  Commonplace.  May 
Time  be  merciful — may  it  delay  its  fatal  duty  till  we 
have  learned  that  to  love,  to  forgive,  to  enjoy,  is  but 
to  understand! 


EPILOGUE 

It  was  quiet  at  Fulda's.  The  evening  crowd  had 
not  yet  begun  to  come.  The  Pintos,  however,  had 
arrived  early,  and  were  at  their  central  table  talking 
in  low,  repressed  voices.  Felix,  at  the  front  counter, 
looked  over  at  them  occasionally  under  his  eyebrows, 
as  if  there  were  something  unusual  in  their  demeanor. 

Mabel  sat  erect,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  looking 
straight  before  her,  speaking  only  in  monosyllables. 
Elsie's  smile  had  diminished  to  a  set,  cryptic  expres- 
sion. She  looked  tired.  Maxim  leaned  his  heavy, 
leonine  head  upon  his  hand,  and  drew  invisible 
sketches  with  his  fork  upon  the  table-cloth.  Starr 
and  Benton  talked  in  an  undertone. 

"I  didn't  go  over,"  said  Starr,  "I  simply  couldn't." 

"Well,  somebody  had  to  see,  so  I  went." 

"Was  it— bad?" 

Benton  shook  his  head.  "No,  lovely.  Wonderful. 
One  wouldn't  think — " 

Mabel  looked  across  at  them.  Starr  lowered  his 
voice. 

"Just  ten  days,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  hear?" 

"Why,  I  was  at  the  Bulletin  office  when  word  was 
telephoned  in.  There  was  something  about  the  de- 
scription that  struck  me — I  began  to  worry — then  I 
went  over  with  a  reporter." 

The  door  on  Montgomery  Street  opened,  and  Dou- 
gal  came  in.  He  moved  like  a  machine.  His  face 

580 


EPILOGUE  581 

was  hard,  his  eyes  glassy,  as  if  he  had  not  slept  for 
many  nights.  He  sat  down  like  an  automaton,  pulled 
off  his  hat  and  let  it  drop  carelessly  to  the  floor. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  Elsie  asked  him. 

"I  don't  know.     Just  walking.     Anywhere." 

"Did  you—?" 

"Yes.    I  had  to.    I  couldn't  stand  it  not  to." 

Benton,  the  most  composed  of  them  all,  pulled  him- 
self up  in  his  chair.  "Let's  have  something  to  drink," 
he  suggested.  He  called  the  waiter  and  gave  his 
order.  A  bottle  was  brought  and  the  glasses  filled. 
They  seemed  to  awake,  around  the  table,  and  each 
one  took  a  glass.  Benton  raised  his.  They  all  drank 
in  silence.  Mabel,  her  eyes  dimmed,  held  up  two 
fingers.  Elsie  smiled. 

"That's  right !"  she  said,  and  held  up  hers.  Mabel 
gulped  down  something  in  her  throat. 

"Well,"  said  Benton,  throwing  off  the  mood,  "we 
might  as  well  have  dinner."  He  took  up  the  menu 
and  looked  it  over. 

They  all  ordered  languidly.  The  talk  began  in  a 
desultory  fashion,  and  the  group  became  almost  nor- 
mal— all  except  Dougal,  who  stared  steadily  across 
the  room  to  where,  under  a  drawing  was  a  scroll 
bearing  the  words  from  Salome:  "Something  terrible 
is  going  to  happen," — and  Mabel,  who  did  not 
speak  and  watched  her  plate.  The  restaurant,  mean- 
while, had  begun  to  fill  up.  Dishes  rattled,  voices 
chattered,  new  arrivals  appeared  every  few  minutes. 

Dougal  looked  up  from  his  plate  listlessly.  "I  saw 
Granthope  and  his  wife  on  the  Oakland  boat  yester- 
day," he  said.  "I  guess  he's  going  East;  they  had  a 
lot  of  luggage." 


582  THE    HEART    LINE 

"Did  you  speak  to  him?"  Benton  asked. 

"No.  I  started  to,  then  decided  not  to  break  up  a 
honeymoon  party.  But  I  heard  her  say  something 
queer.  I've  been  wondering  about  it."  He  stopped, 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  all  about  them  there  at  the 
table.  Then  he  continued  in  a  slow  labored  voice: 
"It  was  the  queer  way  she  said  it — the  way  she  looked, 
somehow." 

"What  was  it?"  Starr  asked. 

"We  were  just  opposite  Goat  Island."  He  paused 
and  took  a  breath.  "She  said — " 

They  all  waited,  watching  him.  He  tried  it  again. 
"She  said— 'Doesn't  the  water  look  cold!'— then  she 
kind  of  shivered  and  said — 'Let's  come  inside' — we 
were  just  opposite  Goat  Island." 

Maxim  repeated  the  words :  "  'The  water  looks 
cold' — Oh,  God !"  he  exclaimed  softly. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Starr 
said: 

"D'you  suppose  she  knew?" 

"How  could  she?"  Benton  asked.  "Nobody  knew 
till  this  noon,  did  they?" 

Elsie  spoke:  "Of  course  she  knew." 

Mabel  nodded  her  head  slowly;  her  breast  was 
heaving. 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment.  It  was  broken  by 
Benton,  who  sat  facing  the  door. 

"There's  The  Scroyle !"  he  exclaimed.  "Who's  that 
with  him?" 

"Oh,  that's  Mrs.  Page,"  said  Elsie,  narrowing  her 
eyes. 

Gay  P.  Summer,  jimp  and  immaculate,  with 
trousers  creased  and  shiny  shoes,  with  the  latest  style  in 


EPILOGUE  583 

mouse-colored  hats,  entered  with  his  lady,  and  looked 
jauntily  about  for  a  good  table.  He  found  one  near 
the  Pintos.  Having  seated  his  partner,  he  leaned  over 
toward  her  and  whispered  for  a  few  minutes.  By  her 
immediate  look  in  their  direction,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  he  was  informing  her  of  the  fame  of  the  coterie 
at  the  central  table,  and  boasting  of  his  acquaintance 
with  it.  Then  he  arose. 

"By  Jove !"  said  Benton.  "He's  coming  over  here ! 
What  d'you  think  of  that !" 

Gay  approached  dapperly,  bowed  to  all,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  back  of  Dougal's  chair.  Dougal 
leaned  forward  and  avoided  him. 

"Good  evening,  everybody,"  said  Gay  affably.  "The 
gang  is  still  alive,  I  see!"  He  smiled  inclusively. 
Nobody  answered. 

"I  should  think  you'd  want  to  find  another  restau- 
rant, now,"  he  continued.  "This  place  is  getting  al- 
together too  dead.  It's  only  a  show  place  now.  All 
the  life  seems  to  have  gone  out  of  it." 

"That's  right,"  Maxim  murmured. 

"Funny  how  places  run  down," — Gay  was  forcing 
it  hard — "why,  I  know  several  people  who  won't  come 
here  any  more.  It  isn't  like  it  used  to  be,  anyway, 
nowadays."  He  grew  a  little  nervous  at  his  apathetic 
reception,  but  went  on.  "Say,  I've  got  a  lady  over 
there  I'd  like  to  introduce  to  you  people.  She's  a 
corker.  Suppose  I  bring  her  over.  You  need  another 
girl." 

Benton  shook  his  head.  "Not  to-night,  Gay.  Sorry. 
Executive  session." 

Gay  looked  round  the  table,  noted  the  two  empty 
places  and  started  :  "But  couldn't — ". 


584  THE   HEART   LINE 

"No,"  said  Benton,  "we  couldn't.  Some  other 
time." 

Gay,  about  to  move  away,  looked  at  Dotigal.  "Say, 
he  said,  "what's  become  of  Fancy  Gray?  Are  you 
expecting  her  to-night?" 

At  the  sound  of  the  name  Mabel  dropped  her 
head  on  her  arms  and  began  to  cry  aloud.  Her 
shoulders  worked  convulsively. 

Elsie  put  her  hand  round  her  neck.  "Oh,  stop, 
May!"  she  whispered.  "Don't  cry — please!" 

Dougal  looked  at  Mabel.  His  small  eyes  gleamed 
as  bright  and  dry  as  crystal. 

"Don't  stop  her,  Elsie!  If  anybody  can  cry,  for 
God's  sake,  let  them  cry!" 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


NOV  1  7 


FEB161992 


JUNE  1 


i-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


PS3503.U6H43 


3  21 06  00209  3158 


